I have been struggling mightily with writing and with life in general. However, today I realized that poetry can be born right out of that struggle. Writing about not wanting to write conquers writer’s block. So I hope you enjoy this poem today which is a word picture of a wrestling match I’ve been partaking in recently.
Maybe this is my refusal to leave the tent
Maybe I’m just done
Maybe I simply have no clue
What is always going on
Though I have nothing left
Or so it merely seems
I still sit here amongst the place
Of all my dead and dying dreams
So what now?
What is to become of all this waiting?
What is the purpose of all this carbon dating ?
What water will I drink from these ancient wells
While the ocean that dwells within me has no wave nor swell?
The questions ripple through the waters
Yet they seem to never return
I believe they have not struck the cliffs
The mammoth rocks I’ve heard of but I have yet to see
The things I know are real
Are the things I never see
Maybe it’s time to follow the questions
They are like the homing pigeons
Always knowing where the answers live
The place my heart simply knows as home
Time to roam
With a purpose
I feel the call within
Yet where is the way?
Where did that ripple go?
That’s ok, I’ll just ask another question
Because there’s everything that I do not know