So our writing is gone? a prose poem

Here's what we all feel, i think

 

So the writing is gone?

 

 

Writing. 

                             What is it about writing?

                             So seductive yet unyielding.

                             Got an idea, but somehow it’s

Gone.

 

                             Can’t just make more

                             It’s like a child is dead

                Having another won’t replace the memory.

 

 

Writing is

                        The most frustrating way to

                        Convey anguish,

                        But when done well

                        Stands the test of time and

                        Every word accomplishes

                        Elates the senses, although

                        Even that tingle is soon

Gone.

 

                        Can’t harness the rush

                        No time release form,

                  Just comes and goes unbidden..

 

                           Of course, if

                           You wait to act on

Writing

               (you wait)

                           To jot down

                           The novel phrase

                           Not when it comes to mind but

                           When you have time, it is

Gone.

 

                           Can’t summon

                           Angst on command,

                           Best when it’s real.

 

 

Writing

                           Is practice, that's what

                           Makes it tight.

                           Every day

                          Stretching to create,

                          Or cheating yourself;

                          Another chance.

Gone.

 

                                 Despite this

                                There are situations

                                (and we know there are)

 

    When

                                 Every little piece

                                 Of your soul

                                 P u l l e d out to share,

Each moment in time

                                So carefully nurtured

                                WHEN that

                                (when that) gets lost

 

Erased

                                Whether through

                                Carelessness

                               Negligence, or

                               Accident

 

It’s equally

Gone.

 

No blame

 

                          For {the writer?}

                          Can’t blame a unique brain

                          For eschewing redundancy in hard copy.

 

                          For  {the publisher?}

                         Can’t shoot the messenger.

 

Nonetheless,

The knowledge

                         The unforgettable fact,

                         That single,

                         Never to be repeated

                         Moments are

Gone.

 

                         My God

                         Can’t hold back the sorrow.

A part of me is

 

G O N E

Reviews

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

Oh, you are so right. So much was poured into what we put on here... some banged out the first time and sticks because it was done in the moment. Some, polished and perfected over revision and time.... either and any way - lost, gone and no matter how I try to be ok - some is not the kind of thing I can or many others can recreate.... so careless, so much lost. I like the format of this and the message is right on target!

Kath