You can't just write a poem,
With no meaning behind its lines.
It can be about your happiness,
Or what goes on during your troubled times.

I personally can't write about a tree,
Without there being a story.
Such as me climbing up one,
Or an animal that lives in the tree.

A poem is nothing without morales,
And that is how it is.
There always must be meaning,
And I don't mean this as a dis.

Though your words may be wonderful,
Welcome indeed..
They are made much more meaningful
When matched in deed.

I dismissed all the possibilities in my mind
And focused on the things that weren't about
To happen

IN A SPLIT SECOND, I bloomed
Not to get others' attention
Except maybe yours

Then I turned to all the things
The stars have taught me
And all the things
They have made me forget

I talked only when I knew the answer
And all bright things turned brighter
ONLY your shadow lingered

There is no cure for the things
That aren't about to happen.

- SV

I know the words I'm searching for are there,
lying beneath the surface of my conscience grasp,
and I know if I try hard enough I can reach them,
pull them from their depths
and use them to create something meaningful
but what if they're not meaningful?
What if I lost it, the talent to string
many times used words together
to make something new altogether?
I could cry with the lack of effort
I put into my poetry now-a-days,
but I'm learning to fear so many things I never use to,
and its hampering my work on a large degree.
How can I claim this is what I do,
who I AM,
when I don't cant feel confident
in my skills as a writer anymore?
Who am I if not a writer?
I'm nothing extraordinary; writing made me feel free
and hopeful and extraordinary,
but I'm not writing anymore,
at the least nothing that makes me feel all those things.

She sat on the bed, her eyes focusing and un focusing on the dust motes dancing across the room. “Why are you so inconsequential?” She asked out loud. Whether she was talking to herself or the flurries was unclear, but the words left her mouth either way. They hung in the air, a dark question that left her in dark places.
    Her eyes drifted around the room until they fell on the shiny blade, lying so innocently next to her. In her mind she debated having an existential conversation with the dust motes or dragging the sharp object over her thighs until she broke through her flesh and revealed the creamy white bone nestled beneath.

They asked me,
To read there poems,
I couldn't
*stop,

What are you really trying to say?
Don't doubt it, just write it
What are you really trying to say?
Let it come, don't fight it
What are you really trying to say?
There's a thought that pays you a visit
What are you really trying to say?
Relax, and just listen.
What are you really trying to say?
About what stirs you inside
What are you really trying to say?
You better say it while you're alive
What are you really trying to say?
Your silence is misleading
What are you really trying to say?
On your search for meaning
What are you really trying to say?
As the fear holds you back
What are you really trying to say?
As you think about failure, or the lack
What are you really trying to say?
As you picture the outcome
What are you really trying to say?
Every time you back down
What are you really trying to say?
As its gnawing at your throat
What are you really trying to say?
When you decide that you won't

In the stillness of the night
Resting gaze upon the moon
A quiet child wants to know
If I am I, then who are you?

Bustling streets murmur below
As people shuffle to-and-fro
With bleeding hearts and eyes shut tight
Afraid to let the world inside

Clouds float by in silver lines
Thoughts adrift inside my mind
Some are pleasant, others wild
But none will help the moon to glow

Satori is a word that originates from Japan. It literally translates as 'awakening' and is used to describe a moment of 'sudden enlightenment'.
To attempt to understand this as an experience, try this:

Imagine your mind as being a glass prism situated behind your eyes.. It breaks up reality in a similar way to how a glass prism refracts light.

What goes in is pure and whole, but what comes out is broken and fractured. When the mind is active, what is received by the eyes is broken up into tiny little manageable pieces of information. Then for convenience, it will discard anything that it considers to be irrelevant, or 'not fitting' [what you already believe to be true].. Then your body will react according to that particular interpretation of reality. That's not to say the mind is bad or wrong, only that the mind does not see Truth, but only what it allows to be true..

When the mind falls silent the prism is removed, and you become just like a mirror. Light goes in through the eyes and your being will directly reflect what is being received.

See if you can catch the next time your mind goes silent. Be aware of the stillness it brings. Notice that the mind will want to judge it or describe it. If thoughts come, acknowledge them and let them be on their way. Just watch them. Treat them in a manner similar to watching clouds float through the sky. Stay with this feeling and remember it well.

For in that moment, all will be revealed.