The Writer’s Curse

Leaving my world of undreamed subtleties,
I am left trying to authenticate
My life. Sometimes in my dreams gentle breeze
Flutters across my nightmares and abates
My
suffering.

There is a tepid dissipation then,
A dissipation of dreams I wanted
to be true. Thrust into the daily ken.
I pick up my pen again and bleed a
Verse,
Quietly.

In the corner of my room it’s just dark
Enough, lit by the footlights of my soul
And not by the floodlights of those who judge.
Putting words to paper is a blessing.
a blessed experience.

And I am cursed

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