Brief poem on the challenge of writing. |
Writin' is Fightin' I've waited too long for a time to be, sublime. A torrent of time ensued, dreams, eroded, corroded by lack of confidence. Dents in my mental made me wish I had a rental, but times I ceased to pick up a pen stopped, being coincidental. A single hand grasping at silt, used to be young now wilted, can hardly grasp at ghosts, but hosts of ideas ever-haunt, and taunt in dreams, so all I can do is write, no matter how ridiculous, it all seems. -wanderinjase 10/3/2015 |