Supposedly, writing
is the perfect pursuit,
because one can recycle
failure, as easily as triumph,
into something greater
than itself.
"You can write about anything,
even having nothing to write about,"
the textbook urged.
But consider the sounds
the world already
has too much of.
Despair,
self-pity,
inertia,
are all well and good
in passing
on the way
up and out,
but very nasty
places to dwell,
and one hesitates
to unleash them
on the teetering world.
Or is it--more truthfully--
that one hesitates
to catch her reflection
in the glass
of her own
words?
I know not what to say, except: This is powerful. Evidently deeply felt.
ReplyDeleteI love the echo of the long vowel in "unleash them on the teetering world." But a critic might question "unleash" in reference to despair, self-pity, and inertia, because earlier they have been referred to as "places." (Can one unleash a place?)
This very small quibble aside, the reader finishes your unpoem with very profound respect for the emotion contained therein.
Ah, this is another reason why thoughtful readers are such a blessing! That inconsistent imagery slipped right past me. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteElena, I love this. You are becoming a master of the "surprise" ending -- some kind of twist or "conclusion" that isn't completely expected, like many of Shakespeare's couplets.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy poems with "surprise" endings, so I'm glad I've been able to create some that work. This one wasn't exactly planned. The "more truthful" part caught me, too.
Delete