Have you ever just reached a point where you just need to make a decision. This morning I did. Will I follow my dream or not. Will I continue to live the life that has unfolded and keeps unfolding in front of me, which I do love so greatly. Though it consists of my Everythings (family is so important to me) it doesnt have EVERYTHING that I want in it just yet. It doesn’t have me spilling words on paper, releasing poems and stories from my head regularly. And so they sit up there, muffled, gathering cobb webbs…poking each other in boredom. I have sat down to write so many times this past month, and yet the time has been absorbed. So many endless things stealing it away. Or perhaps the correct way of phrasing it is that I’ve given my time away. In some cases, so easily. Too easily. And so I sat today, at a very inconvienient time, to write this. Because I need to. I need to write for me. And so I am. And this is what I needed to tell myself.
A Song Unsung
A thousand ghosts dance around me
I watch them flow freely
fluttering birds
They live unafraid
boundless and free
Each one a door I’ve left unopened
Yet I watch them from this life
Small and unheard
Living in a shell that beats
with stubburn tempo
And I hear a whispered promise
…Just fall…
…Just fall…
…Just fall…
Is my dream strong enough to catch me?
My fear tightens grip
Lungs restricted
A song unsung
A melody that purrs no greater than a hum
My book unwriten, my message unheard
My ghosts they dance
A universe away
Just beyond my fingertips
A song unsung
A tune unheard
A message lost
With fear that blurred
My purpose yet unlived
Lost in day to day
An endless string I follow
Will my ghosts live beyond me?
Their fruits bared just beyond
where my roots are laid
I hear my song
an echo left unsaved
My song unsung
A tune only ghosts have played
Your verse somehow and very obscurely makes me miss being drunk, which is odd because I haven’t been that was on in … twenty-three years? Wow – has it really been that long?
I think that maybe poetry is better when drunk and teenaged. I wonder what Wordsworth was like as a drunk teen. Hmm.
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Lol that is hilarious! And perhaps very true. I agree! I do think poetry in many ways may be better when read and or written drunk. Lol Congrats on 23 years! And thanks for reading! Wadsworth as a drunk teen….that thought makes me smile. 🙂
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😀
At last – a kindred soul!
I have searched for thee for this past three score minutes and ten and now – finally – well met … (what was your name again?)
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Haha I love it Robert! Thine name is Lindsey. Nice to “meet” you!
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Hiya Lindsey – good to meet you too. The weather here in York is kind of dull and cloudy, but quite warm. It’s a good day to be alive! 🙂
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Your words speak volumes. I have met and I myself as a writer allow to many
other things to get in my way. I use to carve out time each day but lost my favorite writing spot to so called progress.
Looking forward to finding new one and taking my time back to write.
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Kathy I so agree! It is so easy to give up time for “progress”, and sometimes it’s definitely worth it, btIlnow for me if I don’t write I start to feel frustrated. So glad you can relate! Thanks for stopping by!
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You came to mind today when I read an old post you commented on…how did I lose track of you and your wonderful offerings? I look forward to reading more….you are a talented writer/communicator…thanks for sharing 🙂
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