WritingA Poem by David Lewis PagetI’m so heartily sick of writing As I do most every day, I’m missing that flash of lightning as I write my life away. My friends are dead, or went on ahead As they left me on the page, And said, ‘You just fill the details in While we go off to rage.’ I get no sense of achievement from A page that’s white and blank, I have to fill in some alphabet Of scenes that I once drank, I search around for a storyline That no-one wrote before, It’s like a flea on an elephant, That’s what I’m looking for. At least I fashion my characters The way I’d like them be, The men so brutally strong, and then The women willowy, The latter tend to be acrobats So supple, every night, And take up a shape impossible To fill me with delight. My ladies all are submissive as They dribble from my pen, They ask me what I would like to do And I reply, ‘but then…’ I flip through the Kama Sutra for The inspiration lacked, And have them jumping through hoops to prove How well each one is stacked. But still I’m lacking a storyline To put my people through, So I look out of my window just To watch what folk will do, The world out there is a scary place When I look down from above, The only theme that is not obscene Is the fairytale of love. So in the end you can party folks Go out to roar and rage, I’d rather sit here alone and live Here on the printed page, It may not be as exciting as An extra-marital fling, But I’m content with the themes I’m lent Because writing is my thing. David Lewis Paget
© 2017 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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8 Reviews Added on November 16, 2017 Last Updated on November 16, 2017 Tags: storyline, blank, scenes, characters Author
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