THE DAY WE DIED and some other stuff

Day after day, the same way, we count the days we have left to live.
There's no problem with that.
Just that our minds grow in sync with that info, so we mentally shorten our own lives.
We've got nothing to lose.
And hence a lot to gain.
So the more we count our days,
The more the pain.
This is just Free-writing.
There's nothing more to it.
Just heed to the advice because it's legit.
I'm walking down writer's block, wondering where to go.
So I'm just scribbling; I've got nowhere to go.
Writer's block is a hard thing to hit.
It's like fishing with a bottle cork.
It's true some of these lines don't fit;
I'm just emptying my stock.
Don't mind me wae,
Writer's block is not real.
It's just an illusion;
One which can kill💣.
Don't stop writing,
And blame it on an illusion.
Merge your art with passion,
Now that's what you call a fusion.
Writer's block is for dummies.
For lazy people and co.
How do you expect to harvest poetry if you do not want to sow?
Read wide, if you want to be consistent. 👍
Keep your eye on the prize, and try to be persistent.💪
The more you read📖, the more you write📝.
So try to read before you write.
I'm Revelation Poet🔱,
And I hope I'm making sense.
As I said, I'm free-writing.
This stuff is making my room tense... 😂😂😂

Revelation Poet ©2038
http://revelationpoet.blogspot.com/

#CWC
#PoetryBankGroup

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NO CREATIVITY ALLOWED

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ON THE MIC 2

When words dance to unheard tunes on the lines of your sheet, As you breathe life onto them, death suffers defeat. The urge to bring the page to stage stirs. Then the cares of life we share moves from despair into repair. Our efforts are not useless. When we stand before the crowd and allow words to spill from our reserve; we deserve an applause. And still, we seek to preserve - Preserve our names behind the blue and red wires of the microphone. Our images are printed behind every stanza, verse and line. We refuse to be beaten, Every handiwork is fine. We tell our stories from the bottom of our hearts, So there's meaning in every line-it's a replica of our hearts. When we're on the mic, things happen. When we're on the mic, we happen. Revelation Poet ©2016 http://revelationpoet.blogspot.com Like my Facebook page too: Revelation Poet #CWC #PoetryBankGroup

90 MINUTES OF LIFE

1st min The whistle was blown when the doctor yelled ''push!''. The pass was given when the nurse cut the umblical cord. Free kick Ouch Blood everywhere, So I won a free kick. This game just started ''bloodily'' I was the ball, They played me from half to half. So they called me ''bouncing baby boy''. Ignorant of the insults I rained on them, they smiled while I shed tears. They said, ''This baby is from Heaven''. I agreed. Cos the door I came through was very narrow; so I came head first. Dribbling. They kept me in a sac called amiotic. Waiting for me to join the statistic. But 45mins into the game, I became artistic. Wanting the best in life made me optimistic. Half time. Talk with my God. Where do I go? How do I go? When do I go? 2nd half. Good job Good wife Good children. That's all I need. Final minutes. Now, they play me in the 18yard box. Ready to kick me into the wood-like net. ...

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