deepundergroundpoetry.com
Death of a Poet
He lies there in his thoughts.
Watches helplessly as his Inspiration slips away.
Terror engulfs him.
His gut, wrenching.
He wants to vomit. (As if that will make him feel better!)
Things were about to change.
The fantasy he knew plays in his mind.
He must adapt if he wants to survive the real world.
Watches helplessly as his Inspiration slips away.
Terror engulfs him.
His gut, wrenching.
He wants to vomit. (As if that will make him feel better!)
Things were about to change.
The fantasy he knew plays in his mind.
He must adapt if he wants to survive the real world.
Published 27th Sep 2014
| Edited 30th Sep 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6
reading list entries 0
comments 8
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The author encourages honest critique.
27th Sep 2014 12:49pm
27th Sep 2014 1:11pm
I think that is THE question. :) thanks for reading and your comment brother! (Btw, I'm not going anywhere. I woke up and had to write this. I don't think my Poet is gone yet ltm.)
27th Sep 2014 2:06pm
I was thinking about this very question as I was walking my dog this morning. I don't think writing defines me, but it's something that I now know I can do. It's kind of like being a reporter. Seeing life and telling stories ...
27th Sep 2014 3:57pm
That's a great way of looking at it! When I write, it's so personal that there is inevitably a part of me in it. I don't know if that means it defines me, or, like you said, just telling my story. Thanks my friend!
27th Sep 2014 8:23pm
fantasy is a brief respite from reality. there's a time & place for both.
the poems don't make us, we make the poems...
the poems don't make us, we make the poems...
27th Sep 2014 10:23pm
Anonymous
15th Oct 2014 8:52pm
That last line was really good. Great ink!
16th Oct 2014 1:16pm
