Stand near the light; don't walk towards the door <br />I'm myself, quite myself <br />Though quiet inside, I don't know. <br /> <br />Poets have often celebrated their pain <br />In verse with a swish of wine <br />My poetry has cleansed my mind often <br />Enabled me to feel rather fine <br /> <br />When I, in restless creativity <br />In the perpetual outsider's angst <br />Tried with music to soothe my troubled mind <br />When I submitted to sleep with thanks <br /> <br />How do I handle this feeling that comes upon me <br />At dawn, at dusk, at midnight, <br />I found the Woolfian and Plathian dilemna <br />Apt as only poetic pain can be, wrong or right. <br /> <br />Artists, musicians, flying euphoric <br />Far in their dreams and the world looking at them <br />As though they, and they alone could not understand <br />The compact structured world and its angles <br /> <br />While the pain got lost in all that trite rhetoric. <br /> <br />Handling the pain before it becomes a bonfire <br />That consumes your life and all those who loved you <br />Handle the pain, now that it cannot be borne <br />Give it wings, let it fly, let it break through. <br /> <br />Copyright: Rani Turton<br /><br />Rani Turton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/handling-the-pain/
