Wednesday, March 26, 2014

lost muse

there i go again
wandering down some shadowed trail like i'm looking for something
always like i'm looking for something
though i've long ago forgotten what
if i ever knew
there's no point writing
because i know i'll just write the same words again and again
no point taking pictures
i've already photographed everything i'm interested in at least twice
no one has time for redundancy
my creativity is a waste of art and material
a waste of thought space
these things don't mean anything to anyone
they're just one more reason to laugh at me
or worse, feel sorry for me
to say
oh, look at that poor pathetic creature trapped in the box of its own stupidity
scribbling nonsense on the walls and calling it poetry
someone should pat it on the head and give it a cookie
before it gets sad and starts writing in blood again

limited by my own perceptions of what's real
limited by my own perceptions, inherently flawed
i cannot find the thing i'm seeking
it doesn't exist in this realm
and every poem, every picture, is a struggle
to get back to the place of meaning
the place of wandering the woods as a child
of recurring dreams of secret forts
the nature chemicals from which i devised my religion
a magic as real to me as any god has ever been to you

meanwhile, i live in the land of stories
with characters i love more than family
people i can trust, people who are my own
and it's hard to rip myself away from the distraction
for long enough to find something here
and still it's hard to write these stories as stories
as things that people could read
when what i hold dearest are not the adventures, but the conversations
the times when one character tells another
everything will be alright
and means it
and these characters, they have a bit of magic
a boost in their empathy
which enables them to trust each other
in ways i can no longer imagine happening in the real world

i miss the time i was young and thought i could make fantasy reality
and now i'm lost, having learned no alternate path

what the hell else do people do all day?


1 comment:

  1. To be sure, you are not one of those "scribbling nonsense on the walls and calling it poetry." This is good! Creative and full of emotion.

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