About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. Kiya's gift. I love it!
RETREAT
You stumble into a cold night,
On a back road, checking left and right.
Betrayed by the wind, the moist earth,
Splashing, searching, seeking rebirth.

The birds are gone, your friends too few.
You wish to try to begin anew,
Solution’s too far, with no access,
To fence out that achy loneliness.

The knowledge of defeat’s on your mind,
One gentle good-bye, you’re left behind,
A nod or hello without a chance,
Your labor's lost; farewell romance!

You retreat into your tiny space,
That person you knew now a blurred face,
Tears, names, and words like sorrow or sin
Pour from your pen, you cry within.




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