No mystery today. No creative impulse. No silence. Just a cold stop marks this day. The long bitter journey slaps my face. Again. And I can't help but fail to wonder. I can't ask why. I don't care. I don't even not care. No pit. At least despair is something. I feel nothing. Oh, whatever. It isn't even profound.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Cold Stop
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3 comments:
Oops, accidentally deleted my response. Still trying to figure out how blogs work. Thanks for the comment. I appreciate it. My writing is therapy :)
Oh, and yes, since this is therapy :), I'm okay to create without an audience. Nevertheless, I operate on a belief that poetry can be prophetic (contain a universal message for others) at some level as well as be personally therapeutic. So, I share that which I write.
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