The Smear to My Eye: Blundering Words – Poems
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The Smear to My Eye
Lightening flash brilliance upon the canvas of the night sky
Obliterating the darkness leaving a smear in my eye
Like life it is gone before it can be appreciated
Yet its memory remains un-accommodated
By the fire torn vision I now seek in the black
It begins to fade too, yet; I want it back
My vision restored though nothing looks the same
The smear to my eye must be to blame
The spotted night sky reminds me of the storm
The world is abstract void of shape size or form
Reminiscing yesterday’s subtle disappearance
Hoping for tomorrow’s faithful new reverence
Calming the soul in the turmoil of deceit
Bathing in the warmth of the coiling retreat
I beg for more time to slither and try
But life too is gone like the smear to my eye
Life is but a Moment
Life is but a moment in the never ending vortex of time; as a flash of lightening and it is gone. What will you do in your moment, will you make an impression; leave something behind that signifies you were there. Perhaps in the ultimate scheme of time nothing we do can ever really leave a mark. All inscriptions fade with enough time; with the dying of species or the evolution to the next stage of development. Perhaps; but should we try any less to convey the lessons we have learned to all future generations? Should we not express our short comings openly so they may better understand themselves and do better than we have done for them? The concept of time is vastly larger than our understanding can comprehend, yet we struggle to understand its implications and nuances so we may live forever.
Swiftly agitated hand scribbles incoherent thoughts from my vault
Trembling lines of lead on the paper with traces of thoughts of my fault
There are no words to explain the obsession
Where so many words meet rejection
Formidable foe the blank page has become
Considerable woe it makes me feel numb
Blundering words around on the page
It’s no wonder how this leads me to rage
How do I write what there isn’t to say
How do I turn the white page to grey
Sometimes you just can’t seem to find the words no matter how hard you try, everything that comes out sounds like blah. It either doesn’t sound right or it is incomprehensible and stagnant. Your ideas have reached a state of drought or you just can’t seem to convert them from your mind to the paper. You often have lots of ideas perhaps too many ideas clogging up the arteries of thought and preventing the much needed fresh air of thought. You have grown weary of your own vocabulary and the essence of definition has no purpose for your tired, lonely, quivering hand. You rest solemnly as you try to regain an advantage over the unwritten words you wish so desperately to convey to those with willingness in their ears and minds. You wish to spark delight in their imagination with the things you describe, and portray an adventure in the hearts of those who travel to those distance destinations. Rest well and be replenished for the time is come for the syntax to unfold into a glorified example of communication unlike any other before or since.
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