And so I turned
around and took a look
Where had all the
essays gone?
I remember
agonizing over the themes,
The perspectives,
getting the right voice,
Paying attention
to the meter and the rhythm
Keep writing,
keep writing
Sitting and
waiting for the inspiration as
I played with my
pen. Changing the pen for
a better one, a
smoother writing pen.
The paper staying
blank but for the doodles.
Ah, change to the
computer, quicker to catch
All the words,
all the stories that will begin
to flow at any
moment.
Keep writing,
keep writing
Staring out the
window, watching the birds land
Playing with
these images and the
metaphors, trying
to elicit the right nuance
Of the bird in
flight, light on the wing, and . . .
Looking to the
sky for more inspiration,
The clouds
billow, floating without notice, and . . .
Keep writing,
keep writing
Reflecting what
each of these items may mean,
what magic did
they hold or symbolize. The ring
on my finger and
what that means for my relationships,
The scar
alongside my arm and the battles fought
so long ago.
The memories float forward and I am
lost in the
crystal clear land of remembering and I
am transported
back to another time, another
circumstance.
Pangs of emotions surge forward
keep writing,
keep writing
Because if I
write enough,
I may dwell in
that ghostly memory,
unveiling like a
lost dream and
I can again hold
onto my youth,
my early loves,
my early dreams again.
And only then
begin to conjure new vistas
to dig for the
understanding and the learning,
to comb the
landscape for wisdom, and
to form new
horizons.
keep writing,
keep writing
What do I need to
tell you, what more can I say?
My story is deep,
almost lost for the years of silence
all consuming,
and now undeniable.
There is no rest,
no matter the
distractions, no
matter the interruptions.
No matter that
the timing is not right,
the descriptions
do not match the images,
the meter and
rhythm do not sync and flow
No time to waste,
no time to stand still
Keep writing, keep writing
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