"When you wake up one morning and decide that it is a good day, you walk over to the window, pull the curtain aside to let the sun shine through. You take light footsteps towards the kitchen, slice a lemon, pour yourself a glass of warm water, and put a slice of lemon into it to make lemonade. You feather upstairs back to your room with a glass in your hands, the glaring sun is already leaving rays through the window. You feel a heavy nudge at the bottom of your heart, you sit down, you tear a piece of paper from your spiral notebook, you put a Parker pen in between your fingers, and you write a poem.

It is a state of the mind. Weaving words into strings and stanzas. Someone told you a good one will produce a state of action in the reader, a pathos reaction. As far as you are concerned, you are the reader, you arrive at a state of action, a pathos reaction from places you never know.

Perhaps, like the poems, it is pathological."

* * *

My placebos are my experiments. They are self-expressive as much as they are my self expression. Each carries a mood that was inflicted upon me at the time it was written. Each possesses a meaning so true to me that collectively, they are pathological. A causal cause.

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotions,
it is an escape from emotion;
It is not an expression of personality;
it is an escape from personality.
But only those who have emotions and personality,
know what it is to want to escape
from these things!
- T.S. Eliot

I rest my voice here. My placebos will lend me their voices. Certain things are meant to be. Enjoy your stay and leave your footprints.

Na Mas Te (I greet the spirit within you),
estherg

All poems unless stated belong to esther greenwood.

 

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