Piotr Kopij

Words Unspoken

Poetry book

© Piotr Kopij, 2024

Why is the story just so complicated?

Why is the road so winding?

Do we exist or are we just created

In a sadist madman’s diary?

The book depicts four seasons of growing, four stages of self-development. These entertwine and scatter and each can be found within each of the four parts.

Get drowned in sorrowful verses, lifted up by specks of hope and mesmerized by lands forgotten and unknown.

ISBN 978-83-8369-950-9

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Contents

1. Words Unspoken

2. Part I — Gallery of Nature

1. The forest

2. The sea

3. A smile, a hug, a tear and pain

4. A memory

5. Of rain and serenity

6. Pointless

7. You

8. I

9. You and I

3. Part II — A soft feeling lingering still

1. Not yet right now

2. Rest in me

3. I wrote a poem

4. Eerie rhythms

5. What becomes of

6. Night time poem #x

7. Secret

8. My dream

9. Emptiness

10. A tuo lare incipe

11. The Change

12. Thank you, my friend

13. A soft feeling lingering still

4. Part III — Black-and-white rainbow

1. Poenian Poem

2. A visit

3. Madman’s Diary

4. Scarlett

5. Eveline

6. The Siren

7. Celia

8. 155 words, 200 syllables

9. Madman’s love letter

10. Empty beauty

5. Part I — Gallery of Nature

1. Blackened cell

6. Part IV — Opus Magnum

1. At the gallows

2. A walk through life

3. Opus Magnum

For my grandmother, the best poet to ever exist.

Part I — Gallery of Nature

Haiku collection

Haiku (俳句) is a type of short form poetry that originated in Japan. Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases composed of 17 phonetic units (called on in Japanese, which are similar to syllables) in a 5, 7, 5 pattern that include a kireji, or „cutting word” and a kigo, or seasonal reference.[1]

[1] From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, retrieved 24.05.2024

The forest

The sky above me

Dewed grass beneath my bare feet

One with the forest

The sea

Warm sand beneath me

Becoming one with the waves

I am the water

A smile, a hug, a tear and pain

Engulfed in presence

Serene, soothing, yet painful

Carry on, my friend

A memory

A silent whisper

Kiss from long forgotten lips

How I long for thee

Of rain and serenity

Rain flows through my skin

Sternly cloaked with pouring rain

Drowned, thus made alive

Pointless

Blank sheet of paper

Is better than what I do

Could’ve been meaningful

You

Thank you

For you were once my winter

The snow has melted

I

Bathing in the rain

I so long for the cold touch

Alas, summer came

You and I

Inhaling nature

We are one, the universe

Sky, stars, you and I

Part II — A soft feeling lingering still

Nothing is ever really forgotten

Poetry (a term derived from the Greek word poiesis, „making”), also called verse, is a form of literary art that uses aesthetic and often rhythmic qualities of language to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, literal or surface-level meaning.[1]

[1] From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, retrieved 24.05.2024

Not yet right now

And once again beautiful the lilacs will be

Just not yet right now

And once again colorful shall be my dreams

Just not yet tonight

And once again the taste of your lips will sweeten tears

Just not yet today

And once again our world won’t be as dim

Just not yet this moment

And once again in my thoughts shall be thee…

Just not yet right now.

Rest in me

Come darling

Rest in me

Don’t you worry

Don’t you fear

Don’t hesitate

Erase all second thoughts

I am your harbor

I am your sea

I am your every tear

I am your smile and laughter

I am your shield

I am your sky

I am you.

You are me.

Don’t you worry

Don’t you sulk

Don’t believe a word that’s not delicate

I am your way

I am your help

I am your moon and your stars

I am your everything

I am yours.

I wrote a poem

I wrote a poem

It was rather short

I kept it simple

No story was told

I wrote a poem

Basking in the moonlight

I wrote it quick

But felt it was quite right

I wrote a poem

Though words were hard to find

It still felt decent

It soothed troubled mind

I wrote a poem

And shred it to pieces

I started again…

And I wrote a poem.

Eerie rhythms

I go through the life, a simple writer

Barely any hope, but no fear either

They say - a dreamer, so poetic

They think — a weirdo, probably ascetic

Word of truth that's not so scarce

I sink in this all like everyone else

Hopeless, but I don't bicker

Hopeless, but yet getting thicker

I put those words on pages of life

Simple my strophes and nothing to hide

I am not a saint, but God is my way

I am not a saint, that's not how I play

Sometimes, when forcing a fake optimism

My head is full of dry, bitter cynism

Yet sometimes I feel nothing at all

Weirdly, right then I feel just so full

Some more truth is to be added

Sometimes my strophes are rhymeless

And it breaks the structural integrity of my syllables, breaking points, sense, meaning, lists, everything that makes a poem a poem

And...

Kind of

Shape the matter again

long

forgotten.

I still find it oh so full of thrill

How little we know, but yet still

Everyone just knows better

"Sure I'd do it, but maybe later"

Everyone so perfectly perfect

Self-conscious, not a single defect

Why merely the big mouth then?

Life is not just talk, my friend

I don't claim to be above it

I don't do too much myself, not one bit

I alone must be the worst to be heard

About how easily I just follow the herd

One thing I know, though, so very sure

With lots of respect I go back to the core

I go back to the path of my life

Simple my strophes and nothing to hide.

Simple my strophes and nothing to hide.

Simple my strophes.

Nothing to hide.

What becomes of

What becomes of one

who created

when the paper is blank

and the pen is sheathed?

Where do thoughts venture

ones that are no more

and roam about just the

memories of yore?

How to find again

the road under one’s foot

how to rise again

to whence one had once stood?

Little are those, who fall

and do not get up again

grand — all the others

who proudly endure the pain

Strong — not the one who fights

being full of health

strong is one who smiles

when pain takes words away

The wisest of men

cannot know your way

no one, no one but you

can go fight your fray

What is the one

who creates

…

Having filled the paper?

Night time poem #x

I want to scream

Down from the top of lungs

I want to smile

Through hard and through good times

I want to weep

Tear my eyes away

I want to roam

Roam to find my way

I want to believe

I wanna want much more

I want to pray

Like I never have before

I want to sin

Until my body is so sore

I want to leave

And just slam the damned door

I want to sleep

But sleep don’t want to come

I want to live…

But I kinda don’t know how

Secret

I have a secret

Don’t we all hold one?

I will tell you mine

[1] See Opus Magnum, last poem in this book

[1] From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, retrieved 24.05.2024

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