Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Why I Write, Part x+178: Shinier

I am a poet without hope, and the shinier for it.
To lay down and gaze up longingly at the stars
Would be to make a landing pad of myself,
To invite the wild, unschooled skies
and the rigid, unquestioning authorities
Down with a cargo against which I hoped the hardest.

It's not that I can't see the poetry in adversity,
It's just that a poet who writes only of suffering
Becomes a bore even to himself,
While I maintain an avid interest in my own life.

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