Sighs
There are days I want to quit my poetry
Then I have to ask the question “why?”
It seems no one really reads it much
No one really cares
It seems if there’s no wild video attached
Nothing that catches stares
Then it is to be avoided, discarded
We can’t be wasting time with things that don’t waste our time
I must ask the question “Why?” again
But this time for why I write to begin
With
See, I get to play with words
I get to express my joys
Wrestle with concerns
I guess it really doesn’t matter if it’s read or not
Though it would be nice to see who’s in the same lot
As I
I sit here and release a sigh
That seems to come from a deeper place
I wonder if my soul, my face
Will ever find what it’s meant to be looking for
A random line, a menial chore
All these things seem to break into the existence
A copied lung, a bleak resistance
I go dwelling in worlds I know nothing about
Places where quiet, not screams or shouts
Tend to draw the most attention
Do you ever sense the power of tension?
I surely do. Every day.
It seems to be the life, the way
Of living life like there is no tomorrow
I can relate to this but never tried to put this in words. Thank you for conveying this feeling so eloquently.
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Thank you for the great comment. I’m glad it spoke to you 😊
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Pleasure 🙂
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It certainly resonates with me, and exactly as you have expressed. I once didn’t make my work public in any way and only had the personal benefit of writing. For me, the reason for the extra effort (publishers/internet) is that I hope someone else might get something from my work, whatever that may be, as I get from yours. Speaking of, the dwelling and the quiet, your search and the contradictions of living, a beautiful thoughtful piece.
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Thanks Steve. I’m glad you make that extra effort because I get a lot from your work.
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My pleasure and thank you.
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