Poetry As Catharsis

For Real Toads. NaPoWriMo day 16. 

Poetry is like a lava flow, so that I don’t explode.

Poetry is the heartbeat, from the center of me.

Poetry is the rain outside, pouring, and the shy sun when it peeks through clouds.

Poetry is the salve on my heart, saving my sanity.

Poetry is the firefly that makes even the darkest night a little lovely.


12 thoughts on “Poetry As Catharsis

  1. Yes, lava. Although, this morning, for me, it felt like restless drums in the native village, while the Raj white people listen nervously.


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