Words,
wallow
at my feet,
fractured,
disjointed,
anointed?
fragments of gold,
delusions of grandeur?
Unable
to piece together
the puzzle.
Can I proclaim myself
"poet"
or charlatan?
focus my energy
on a practical trade,
nine to five,
benefits,
retirement plan.
Still,
the words
remain
stubbornly silent,
gathered up,
tucked
in my pocket,
spoiled children,
demanding
constant attention.
Oh, I love the way that cascaded. I feel like I could envision the person thinking these things. Wonderful story.
ReplyDeleteoh the words will always find their way and place...i focus a lot of my energy on a day job as well and still, there's much room for the words to grow both, roots and wings... smiles - and when you finally, by the end of the day, take them out of the pocket, they're warm and full of vibrant life and can't wait to be pinned on a sheet of paper..
ReplyDeletehaha spoiled children demanding attention...yes that is what my words are as well...they are stubborn as well....nice write...
ReplyDeleteKnow that tugging in two directions--we work because we need to, and write because we have to, both necessary for our survival, vying for our attention. Excellently expressed!
ReplyDeleteThey are, they are, all of that. And attempts to deny or resist their insatiable demands are all too futile. Good one.
ReplyDeleteThere is no cure for this addiction...I've looked everywhere, had family stage interventions, we are alone in our obsession...which is why we must take the words to the world! LOVE this....
ReplyDeleteTo be bound by our words, stubborn control, begrudging freedom.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem!
ReplyDelete