I fear not being.
I fear not realising my dream,
more so, not knowing it.
I do things inhuman-like,
it pays for my pens, those that help me search.
I get up, follow the routine and occasionally,
occasionally I feel something different,
it nudges and stirs the stagnant pools of
day-to-day.
I have seen beauty and not known it,
rather twas revealed through other's faces,
staring, leach-like
I
waited to be taken
in by the sun's late offering.
I am terrified of the dark inside
so readily sculpting the view from my window.
How can it so?
I caught a glimpse of fearlessness in 1992,
it lodged and dined for nearly three weeks,
it entered like waves of softened silk,
uncreasing the starchy folds between my dawn and dusk.
My truth revealed above, in type,
unmasks a newness sought here.
Comments
jennifer | November 8, 2011 - 19:21
Fantastic poem, really like the way it ebbs and flows and some fab lines, esp:
'I am terrified of the dark inside
so readily sculpting the view from my window'
My one criticism is that you have a tendency to overuse the comma when it is not grammatically correct in places - I know you are doing it to create a rhythm, but you need to trust in the natural rhythm of the words and your line breaks to do this for you - the commas can interrupt the flow,
J x
hoalarg1 | November 8, 2011 - 19:26
Thanks for taking the time to comment. Cheers for the feedback, will take it on board.
jennifer | November 8, 2011 - 19:27
No worries, it's a great poem and I suffer a similar problem with over-punctuation myself! I tend to use too many exclamation marks!
J x