There is this idea that haunts me. Call it
a idealization, adoration,
Inspiration – it doesn’t matter much.
The fact is that it is there, looking at
me. Mocking me. Taunting Me. Telling me
tales of triumph and dalliances of
despair – fair being fair. Getting me stuck
on ideas, trying to shift gears, wiping
her tears.

The concept I call for, old fashioned and
frail, hailed by this male,  is romantic and
medieval, the reason why grooms wait un-
der steeples. Love is my mistress and I
her saved. It’s what pulls me to write, even
when I’m not in step. It’s what gives me hope
when I see nothing left.

It may not be much, but she gives me words.
She may not be real – I may sound absurd.
But I speak from my heart and many don’t.
I put myself out there when many won’t.

This is why I write.

I wrote this for a prompt series I just found that looks kind of cool. Check it out. The intent of this was to be total blank verse but I started rhyming at the end. The syllable’s match up (except the end lines) so I’m still counting it.



Welcome to the empty recesses of my mind! I'm a recent college graduate realizing a Creative Writing degree was a bad idea. Give me a pity like. Or you could check out the about sections (on the front page and about this author page) on my blog to learn a little more about me. Whatever.

What do you think? Do you agree? Do you love it? Or am i a complete tool? Any response is welcome!

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