Saturday, May 05, 2012

A poem, of of yet untitled

I miss writing
     almost as much as I miss wanting to be a writer
     or grand poetess
     of one of those incredible literary types that can quote long and obscure passages from the extended works of this author or that.

I tried that be that type.
I quoted an entire Shakespeare sonnet to a friend at lunch
    one of those sonnets written to the dark lady
    that at one time when I
    impacted me.
    a sonnet that proved that I read more than just the "best of" pieces that all the ordinary people read.
I will never forget the look on my lunch companion's face
It made me feel smart
But lets be honest.....even if I could quote all the now obscure philosophers and poets of the world...
  is there still an audience?

I talk about this person I want to be
I may own the books that house the thoughts of those obscure intellectuals
But I don't have time to read them
Instead I carry the books around me in the house
   finding comfort being surrounded by these stacks of wisdom

This actually makes my bookshelf the cultured, intellectual one
and me something more akin to an illiterate dreamer that lives in a library

In any case,
I miss this self that I wanted to be,
the writer
    who now spends more time criticizing and editing the grammar mistakes of others on Facebook
    then taking up pen to paper and making grammar mistakes of my own.

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