E.R - Poems unwritten
Poems unwritten
So many papers unwritten, stories obscured, countless of ideas unrealised - poems made unreachable-
They sit in desks, decay in files of notebooks owned by dead people - unpublished, unseen - deemed unworthy of human attention.
The unspoken truth rules - the existence of thoughts better not be shared -
Too extreme, radical, extensive, niche - too blunt.
No mystery to be found between their lines by the shallow glances of harsh judges - the harshest of them all - writers.
(And this is too open again, isn’t it - there is nothing to unravel for you, nothing to be worked out - this is bold and descriptive- easy to read, simpler to understand- it doesn’t make you think, it doesn’t make you sick - you don’t feel anything - anything at all.
A file in the notebook of someone who will die. Erased by no one - too unimportant to pay attention to (repetition)
To be understood is to live - to live is to be understood. Understood in a literal sense, in an obscured one - understood in a way that a language is to be understood- to be comprehended - a language cut into pieces, filling out the blank margin of a file - too many words.
Abstractions.
Anti-artistries.
A sacrifice - to be understood but never listened to. Yet to be seen - impossible to reach.
What do we offer in order to make it out alive - the pen on a piece of paper - instead of the finger pressing down on a trigger.
Is there more to it?
Are there answers and their questions - dancing around each other? Waiting to be discovered by patient hands and gentle minds - the world doesn’t stop for any of us-
Creators lost in thought of self doubt and feeling - when is it ever going to be good enough?
Never - found in anxiety- the enormity of it’s meaning - a meaning too blunt (repetition) in a world desiring for mystery (repetition))
# 106 ER.