Blank

My complex words have told nothing so far.
I am aware.
I have merely stolen a glimpse from an undying truth.
I am unsure.
I have been applauded by confined hands.
I am surprised.
My nonsense has taken the form of poetry.
I am ashamed.
My dreams have been unworthy of the paper.
I am humiliated.
I have tried to cover my faults with ineffective colours.
I am a failure.
My voice has never been strong enough to reach curious ears.
I am glad.


My complex words have given me power.
I am strong.
The truth has given me knowledge.
I am wise.
The recognition has let me perform further.
I am overpowered.
I have written verses that may not rhyme.
I am altering.
I have laid words of my own upon the page.
I am a dreamer.
I have taken care of every detail.
I am a perfectionist.
My voice has always been strong enough for me.
I am pleased.


I stand between the frigthening margins of creativity.
I will fall one day.
I build up my wings from fictional feathers.
I will fly one day.
I bring my soul together to utter a phrase.
I will be an artist.
I read another's creation and am in awe.
I will become greater.
I feel that I am much better.
I am selfish.
I know that I am the worst of all.
I need perfection.
I will complete my work someday.
But not at the moment.

*****

A faint cry will not weep for my victory
And I will rejoice.
My own joy will unravel the world...
And then I will be miserable.
I will be able to say that I have fought with dignity,
But I have lost my pride in war.
And that my sword is of an imaginary sort
But it has been left on the ground.