deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Write Stuff
A void where I once had a face
Long vanishing without a trace
Now gone with the slightest wind
A god telling me that I have sinned
I am loath to stir his wrath
Walk along an unknown path
Chilled and shaking to the bone
Wondering if I am alone
I can't seem to comprehend
How to bring this to an end
Casting it into the flame
Lest I incur an abject shame
Yet I am not inclined to mope
Give up on remotest hope
The struggle to produce a line
Though it will not be the most divine.
Long vanishing without a trace
Now gone with the slightest wind
A god telling me that I have sinned
I am loath to stir his wrath
Walk along an unknown path
Chilled and shaking to the bone
Wondering if I am alone
I can't seem to comprehend
How to bring this to an end
Casting it into the flame
Lest I incur an abject shame
Yet I am not inclined to mope
Give up on remotest hope
The struggle to produce a line
Though it will not be the most divine.
Published 25th Sep 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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comments 13
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Anonymous
25th Sep 2018 1:28am
I feel it. Your ending. I too struggle to produce a line and the outcome of those I have started and incomplete will be not divine, if my muse doesn't speak up soon. You still have the touch my friend. J.
25th Sep 2018 1:32am
Thanks for the encouraging words, J. I already deleted two today. I obviously don't have much confidence in my writing. Thanks so much for your support!
Anonymous
25th Sep 2018 1:40am
It happens when it happens and then, all of a sudden, an earthquake and you write things you don't always understand at the time. But it has meaning to others who needed a word. J.
25th Sep 2018 3:24am
This is so true and really resonates with me. I have written things that just poured out of me and I never realized the meaning until others pointed it out. Those are the best moments. Someone needed it enough to decipher a meaning that you, as the writer, didn’t even understand.
25th Sep 2018 2:10am
Bravo Sir Crow! I like the solid writer wisdom in this piece. Write, write, write. Hemingway said:
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
I wait too long...hoping for brilliance...missing opportunities of therapeutic self-expression.
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
I wait too long...hoping for brilliance...missing opportunities of therapeutic self-expression.
25th Sep 2018 8:25pm
I love that Hemingway quote. Bleeding, though, may be going to far. I'd settle for the tears and other bodily fluids. I also still hope for brilliance but end up all too often with mediocrity. Still, I try. You're right about the therapeutic value. Your own work shows its benefits. Thank you, Gahdess!
25th Sep 2018 6:19am
25th Sep 2018 8:29pm
I have 65 hugs to provide. That's the year count of my age. Thanks SweetOlivion!
25th Sep 2018 9:56am
This is wonderful Crow, an experience we’ve all had.
I read in the comments above that you had deleted some writings. I feel one should never delete! While it may not be quite what you want at the time, you never know what might trigger brilliance later to add to it.
Hugs from afar that the fog lifts 🙂
I read in the comments above that you had deleted some writings. I feel one should never delete! While it may not be quite what you want at the time, you never know what might trigger brilliance later to add to it.
Hugs from afar that the fog lifts 🙂
25th Sep 2018 8:34pm
It's true that I'm very quick to delete. I consider some of my poems to be lost causes, not worth the trouble or embarrassment. I care just too damn much, and should just let them ride, hope they're enjoyed. Thanks Bonzi!
25th Sep 2018 11:34am
25th Sep 2018 8:35pm
25th Sep 2018 8:35pm
