(Heres a little somewhat of a poem I typed one night, two weeks back, sufficiently high on Vodka shots. It took me the next morning to correct the many spelling mistakes and grammatical errors I'd made the previous night in my state of inebriation....whatever sense you make of it is your own interpretation, as for me this somewhat of a poem was done and through with when the lines rhymed!)


Words

The words won’t flow out tonight, dear Lord…my mind feels numb….
My eyes feel weighty, and my heart…deaf and dumb
The quill between my fingers lies dead, motionless as wood
The papers lie scattered around like dead fighters in a skirmish would

Known yet unknown is the feeling inside
that to no one, to no one can I confide…
none will ever understand, they hardly ever do
To whom do I profess, whom do I confess to…?
that confused I am, afraid to unfold
a wound throbbing deep inside my chest
so excruciating and oh so cold.

Why do I seek the words tonight oh Lord, why do I crave to write..?
Why can I not speak out my mind and put up a brave fight..?
Is prose my only strength, is the pen my only might..?
Why am I afraid to break the restrains, why is it that within myself I hide..?

You’re not afraid son, neither are you weak
It is merely affection and affection alone that you seek.
If it is through prose alone that you speak your heart out best…
then let your pen speak your heart’s behest..
Be not afraid of lettering your feelings, be not afraid to spell what is true..
Be not tormented if the artist appears to have burnt out in you…
In art lies the greatest tranquility, in art I reside
In prose lies your greatest muscle, through prose you shall confide…
So go forth unafraid and do profess your eternal love for her…
but do so as a poet, poets seldom cower.