NO OPTION
Some days this pen feels like a scalpel
as I finely slice through layers
to reach the marrow of truth
that lies deep within these bones.
Too painful to watch for very long
I turn my head but continue,
knowing the writing urge within me
won’t rest ‘til the words are born.
Excising the story and setting it free
is my life's task I'm certain,
but the pain of composing is slight
when compared to a mute life of silence.
Some days this pen feels like a scalpel
as I finely slice through layers
to reach the marrow of truth
that lies deep within these bones.
Too painful to watch for very long
I turn my head but continue,
knowing the writing urge within me
won’t rest ‘til the words are born.
Excising the story and setting it free
is my life's task I'm certain,
but the pain of composing is slight
when compared to a mute life of silence.
Labels: writing
posted by Pilgrim Path | 7:58 PM
2 Comments:
How could this poem have no comments? The poem itself cuts to the core. I appreciate so much of what you have written. Just discovering it.
Welcome, Pam. Glad you're here. Thanks for the kind words. How did you find me?
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