Freeverse 2


Ironic! … what muse this is to find, that as I write, I am indeed a “writer.”
For even now the classic allegations begin to form around me.
Sparks of inspiration swirl like snow in a winter’s wind,
Landing in all places, except where I need them.
Hours spent staring at my canvas, a painter struggling for sight,
yet I am armed with only a pen.
And the dark future lies before me, grey and brooding,
as my words consume the past… what was, what was not, what can’t be...
A collection of romances, full of fondness, yet all but soon forgotten.
For destine I am to walk alone, and so I raise my cup,
Full of confidence that bewitches the tongue of men,
leaving me here, on this park bench… to join my forefathers.
Traveling the pages of history! In every school, in every state, in every civilized world.
And yet still, a feat only obtainable in death.
So here I sit…writing.
Of songs never sang, thoughts never shared, loves neverlasting…
A bleak world, bleak but full, a life of strange events and curious memories…
… a life of source material.

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