Whisperings
Friday, Oct. 26, 2001 ~ 11:51 p.m.

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I've taken a break from online lately . . . which might help explain a lack of entries . . . then again, maybe it doesn't . . .

I've been reading so very much . . . I think part of me is hoping that I'll shake of this massive case of writers block that I've been having . . . I'll get the urge to write something, then when I sit down to write, I won't be able to write what I want to write. For example, I wanted to write a poem the other day, but everything I tried to write came out more like the beginning to a short story . . . . structured sentences rather than my normal poetry.

I was talking about that with Paul (the Glidden representative at work) so next week, I'm gonna bring in one of my poems, my sestina, for him to read just 'cause he was interested in reading it.

So, back to my writing problem . . . you would think that if I try to write a poem, and it comes out wanting to be in short story format, that I'd just start writing a short story, but no . . . that's not how it works. . . . I tried that, but as soon as I started to put things down for that, all inspiration left me.

I did finally manage to get a poem out the other day. I had thought of a line that I liked about a week before that, and I suppose I'll put the poem in here.

Whisper of a Memory

Day turns to night
As the sun falters and slips,
Sinking slowly into the sea.
Her blue-green depths sink,
Darkening, 'til they're as black as a shadow's heart.

Silence falls all around,
Leaving me only to my thoughts,
Dark as the bottomless ocean.

I am alone,
Now more than ever before.
Family and friends all seem too far
And hope alone cannot bring them closer.

I am afraid,
Afraid that I will forget,
Or they will, and we will fade away.
Nothing more than a whisper of a memory.

It's late, and I should get going to bed again.

'til then.

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