tilting at windmills.

this poem is over two years old now..

i can't 

write (think!) - 

the words that lie in wait 

peering from devious pen's ink 

are NOT the ones i want. 

they bubble and surge 

gleefully pushing towards the escape routes.. 

i think (write!) 

in monosyllabic bursts 

hoping that my brevity 

will staunch their cacophony. 

i fight to make the levee hold 

(for once!) 

to keep them from their self-appointed duty. 

THESE words will never come into truth - 

no, not on my watch!

Author's Note

i rarely explain a write, but this one means a lot. this was one of the first thing written after a months long self-imposed writing hiatus.. you see, my mother had just been diagnosed with inoperable breast cancer, and her best friend had asked me to write her eulogy. horrified, i refused to write anything that could possibly make her sentence concrete.. it didn't work, my writing strike.. but yeah. still stings.

Reviews

[Tony]

By writing our inner selves we ultimately judge ourselves.
It's a good thing, but doesn't always feel like it. Writing someone else, well, that would be even harder...
This one didn't make me red at all...?!

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

I always see your love for your mother in your words..somehow your words would keep here eternal in her essence..(i am not sure i have put it right...i hope you understand what i intended to say)

[Robin]

I can feel that sting you feel . . .

[Ed Hart]

the muse is not on call...and comes and goes no matter our plea or praise...but to me, your words have worth, just because

[paul]

the words that lie in wait: beautiful !
oh my God! -the first 7 lines stun like stun gun, charged with wonder.
wow ! perfect ! every word