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A Page Out of Hamlet's Book: On Writing

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To write, or not to write; that is the question
Whether it be better to put pen to paper, to take
That final leap of faith and to disrobe
In front of a critical audience, watching
As a soul is bared for their amusement,
Or to shut the words up so the clamor
Reaches that deafening pitch as the tales bitterly
Fight to be free? To kill; to ignore
Those great, beautiful, terrible things and forget the
Quiet catharsis words bring. Or to grab hold of
The ideas, grapple with them until unto paper they
Submit, pulsating power in black type.
But there is that fear in releasing the power of the words;
For once they escape the safe room of the mind
They are uncontrollable as criminals on a jail break
Scattering across the page in configurations you didn’t
Ordain and may not understand, need, or take pleasure in.
Ay: ‘tis difficult decision, for fear of a wrong step
May lock up the words forever, and fear of never
Revealing the truth may make words too bold.
Fie on the terrible clamor! On the sly whisperwhispter
Words that grimblegrumble through the day and mouthymurmur
In the long night! The noise that never ceases and
Never will.
Shall I loose the uncontrollable words onto the world
Or go mad from the noise?
It comes to this: explode with words
Or implode, crumple with the quietest whimper?



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