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Posts tagged “Poet

Letter To A Friend

So, to combat the fact that I hadn’t written a poem in an age (last was in October), I went to a nearby park to sit, think and see if I can reconnect with myself. In the end, I was able to write:

Letter To A Friend

 When I feel down,

As I have for the past few months.

I pick up the pad you gave me,

And I read the words you left me.

You have much faith in me,

These days I can’t see why.

I often feel like a failure to myself

As well as to my loved ones.

Especially around certain times of the year.

I often wish I could see,

What you see, when you look at me.

I would love to draw strength from that

And know that there is much,

Or at least a little to claim pride in.

I look ahead, to see.

To see what lies before me, and the path is not clear.

I feel tis a narrow road and I must clear a path for myself.

I look to my past. To previous thoughts and readings,

I am reminded that David often had cause to encourage himself.

I have trouble trying to draw parallels with him.

Even as I did when I was a man of faith.

I hear words from my favourite tv characters,

The Doctor, Merlin, Sherlock et al

 Yet, I could not presume to place myself among such exalted company.

Though, if I would seek greatness, is it not their kin I must look to?

Can I not draw parallels here?

Is it too late to try?

Am I unworthy?

Who is worthy, if I cannot be?

All is in my hands.

But where do I turn?

I feel like a rudderless ship. Adrift in a storm.

With no idea which way is my North.

I look around to seek out answers.

In times gone past, I was told,

Look to the hills, as from there comes my help.

But I am no longer that man.

Those words no longer belong to me.

They belong to another.

I know not who.

Many moons ago, I was told of a destiny that was mine.

Is it no longer for me?

The underlying sadness I felt, even as a man of faith.

Remains, tears and claws at me.

The tenet I hold in hand.

Do what your hands find to do.

This I continue to do.

I am not comfortable.

And this is fine.

If I was, I wouldn’t fight, I wouldn’t try.

But I know not what I am supposed to do.

My strength has never been born of myself.

Ever was it born from others.

As much as I hated it,

It would appear I was never truly independent.

And much have I hated that.

You were the strength I never knew I needed.

In truth, I’m not even sure I wanted.

I fought you.

Because I fear that is all I know.

The fight.

For good or ill, this has been my help.

And now?

Who do I fight?

Where is the iron to sharpen me?

And so I am lost.

I’m sure that in time, I will find my way.

It is me afterall.

In the meantime, I shall wait.

Try to find direction again.

I shall wait.

Unfortunately, it won’t be patiently.


Why Must I Write?

The last few months have been a bit difficult for me. In truth, it’s not completely unexpected. When you branch out to forge a different path for yourself than the one you’re already on, there are bound to be a plethora of difficulties. What makes things sometimes worse is that I haven’t written in an absolute age. So I went looking through some of my older work, in the hopes of maybe finding some inspiration on reconnecting with myself. And I came across this:

Why Must I Write

Why exactly must I write?
Shall I write to show you my very heart?
Or shall I write simply because I can?
In truth I write because I feel I must.
I feel I must catalogue all, before I return to dust.
Yeah, when all is said and done, and everything is gone.
It must be written down.
It must be written down.
The battles that were fought?
They must be written down.
The conquests that we had?
They must be written down.
The hearts that we broke? Yes, they must all be written down.

This, is why I write.
I write to tell you my story.
Now you know, will you share my glory?