Today, I avoid yet another poem because
the hours have vanished and waking felt
more like dreaming, like a leaf, a burst of color,
floating slowly to the ground
and it wasn’t until I sensed the cold,
dark earth beneath me that I arose from
my slumber and entered into one more
of these lonely, forgotten days.
Today was as oblivious as a sea turtle
when I awoke,
groggy and sore, standing in the chilly
eastern breeze. I turned away from the
window as the sun sank
into the thin, shaky trees.
And today, I approached inspiration but found
myself falling, again, into an endless pit
of dreams without endings, and hopes without
grounding. I stumbled through a swamp
of doubt and lack of faith. All around me
inspiration appeared like a phantasm;
only visible from out of the
edge of my vision.
All until I fell face-down in the mud
and gave up
again.
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
Today, I avoid yet another poem because
the hours have vanished and waking felt
more like dreaming, like a leaf, a burst of color,
floating slowly to the ground
and it wasn’t until I sensed the cold,
dark earth beneath me that I arose from
my slumber and entered into one more
of these lonely, forgotten days.
Today was as oblivious as a sea turtle
when I awoke,
groggy and sore, standing in the chilly
eastern breeze. I turned away from the
window as the sun sank
into the thin, shaky trees.
And today, I approached inspiration but found
myself falling, again, into an endless pit
of dreams without endings, and hopes without
grounding. I stumbled through a swamp
of doubt and lack of faith. All around me
inspiration appeared like a phantasm;
only visible from out of the
edge of my vision.
All until I fell face-down in the mud
and gave up
again.
This is what an unproductive day feels like, when I take the time to think about it. Most days like this go forgotten.
Progress.
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