I write.

But Why?

Because I must?

I have to?

I want to?

I must, deep inside, have to want to.

I want not to write because I have to,

Yet I must write because I want to,

Yet I write with pen, key, pad, and spacebar.

I hate writing the most when I must write little,

Yet I Must want to write when I want to write much.

Now, when much is written, and little from me,  

Is it still poetry?

If written for no one yet everyone,

Or layered between that which is not me

That which is not human

That which can only see,

The words themselves and translate to action.

Not inspire, but cause.

Where once I wrote to uplift that most complicated machine,

Now I dictate to the most powerful,

Yet least imaginative.

Least want.

Because I want to do.

Writing is doing,  

Insofar as it is creating,

But I must write.

Yet I have to write.

Yet after writing to the machine,

I must write to myself.

Both in meter and constraint,

And both absolute.

One must be correct,

One must be perfect.

One must work,

One must do.

I am responsible for the machine,

Yet I am the writing.

Thus, I must have to write.

I must want to.

But I must make myself

Want to must have to write.

My quill set for the page,

Yet my mind’s eye is upstaged,

Betwixt them sits a wall,

But here no war shall be waged,



I search for beauty and pathos,

Yet my aperture gathers only stone,

If the barrier were to give itself kudos,

For having left my page all alone



But to think of the possibility,

That the wall itself but not a writer,

That the curvature of the laden brick,

Creates a paradox of the block.

The battle done,

Remaining combatants one,

Gazing up to the gray cloak,

Tailored to the palace of the moon,

Threatened only by the ever-fading emissaries,

Of the ailing sun.



Each a perfect sentinel,

Of solar prowess technical.

The ceasefire teased opposite

By the lunar composite,

Of that sweeping cloak,

Choked,

Where the moon once woke.

Neither one nor other,



As if my breath could the life

Of either titan smother.

Honk.
I flinch at the noise,
Staring straight at the alloys,
Of the behemoths stopping m…
HOonk.
Stopping me from reaching my destination.
The journey that forms the foundation,
Of the treadmill walking m…
HoOonk.
Walking me in baby steps
Just so that the next,
Class I take could let m…
HoOoOonk
Let me live my life
And be free from this strife.
Let me move forward instead of
HoOoOo…
Being stuck in traffic.

From deep within, all of our souls begin,
With unweighted steps from the shallow breaths,
Of every race our young hope was to win,
Against any of the James, Marys or Beths.

From deep inside, we try so hard to hide
All the insecurities we suppressed.
In every person we hope to confide
In how we are exterior obsessed,

From deep inward, all the steps we have heard,
From all the mentors we once could have known,
Tweet just a beat louder than the blue bird.
Right here is where all of our fear has grown.

After passing over the peak of mirth,
We sit humble again for our rebirth

Time makes the heart grow fonder,
As the ropes of friendship fray,
I know that thoughts will wander,
Despite what good intentions say,

As places remembered,
Now places long forgotten,
Each experience membered,
By memory gone rotten

With miles and miles,
Between once good friends,
Thousands of styles,
And more wasted weekends.

Despite all of a life’s resistance,
I hope we all can close the distance