Live By the Pen

October 6, 2011
By TheCinders PLATINUM, Kentwood, Michigan
TheCinders PLATINUM, Kentwood, Michigan
28 articles 1 photo 22 comments

She limps down the sidewalk
wounded by her own ambition
Her own criticism
Impaired by her need to be the best
Restrained
She presses a curled index finger
to her lips
In a silent prayer
Whispering hymns
to an estranged heavenly father
It's all she can do
It's out of her hands
Reaching and clawing toward a dream
that seems within reach
But is yet to be attained;
She stops suddenly
looks back momentarily
Back at the gray sidewalk beneath her
Back at the gray atmosphere
And she breathes the fog from her lungs
the mist from her head
There is no giving up
She sets her jaw
squares her shoulders
and looks ahead
to what's real
There is no surrender
The ink pulsates through her like blood
Just as vital
She must write
Even if she has to walk
these desolate sidewalks again
She will write
until her ears ring


The author's comments:
I sat with my poetry notebook in my lap and tried to think up a poem... but I couldn't. Fragments and fractured pieces popped into my head but they lead right off a cliff and I felt so hopeless. So I stopped. Put my head in my hands. And cried for a little while. And when I lifted my head up and had another go I was still unsuccessful. But then a little voice popped into my head, "Use this pain, use this frustration. Write bout what you're feeling right now." And I did, and I came up with this. I hope you enjoy it.

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