At an hour past midnight
The writer's pen strikes his paper
His pen is his sword
His pen is his alibi
His pen is all he needs to continue
He's a writer
A writer of love songs
His silence is beautiful
But his voice is strong
Writer, writer, in the night
Who is it who you search for?
What does lead your endless plight
What makes your thoughts soar?
Above your head, round and round
The reason is unknown to me
But I can tell, that without a doubt
Your pen is what helps you see
All you do is search and search
And lament your plight, your heartbreak
Even your life like a boat does lurch
Back and forth, back and forth, everything at stake
You shut down, lukewarm, but "satisfied"
But your pen always tells you more
Than you thought you knew
About yourself
You communicate a feeling, a feeling that is lacing your words like silver the clouds. A feeling that is like watching someone glance at you from the corner of their eye; sharing a secret emotion. A feeling that speaks of a hidden place, a small treasure that so few can unlock, open and see, but is rewarding beyond measure when accomplished. Why is it you write so powerfully? I cannot write like that. I wonder if it simply takes time. How can I communicate my small detail? That small detail that without even describing, you manage to make come alive...
4 comments:
Once again, beautiful. You're inspiring me to write more like this - so is he, this stoic writer.
So true - how can it be alive without detail? With just a word?
The soft aroma of a latte communicates far more than a detailed review of the room.
Bravo, once again.
"The soft aroma of a latte communicates far more than a detailed review of the room.
"
This entirely depends on what your readers think of latte. For example if it was a Mocha it would mean much more to me. >.<
Hannah-Thank you! I actually wrote this a while back. Got up this morning after sleeping in-T.T, and decided to finish. So far, my brother hasn't killed me for being on the comp, sooooo. lol
I enjoyed this one because I could feel it while I was writing it. I was in a room, at 1 in the morning, watching someone write away...it was cool.
Cylleruion-True, true. What I wanted to capture in this poem was the writer and his ability...
And I merely commented on it. ^.^ (lol)
Whaaaateeevver.
Being a boy, you wouldn't understand, of course. >.<
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