Are you a writer?
Are you as compelled to pen in your pleasurable periods
As much as in your perilous times?
Is it that expression flows
More when you’re in your lows
But then is suspended in your highs?
Or well, of course not.
Because those moments of hot
Don’t give time for a pause,
But smiles and chuckles and joyfully
But in your darkness,
In your shadow,
In your soft sofa of self-pity,
And there’s power in your sorrow.
Yes, tears slowly follow,
And all you can do is think,
And hate your situation,
About your limitations
Under the cloak of night,
Til you can’t bear it anymore.
What is it about our reactions to tragedy that make us feel
As if we’re caged?
And what is it about spilling our thoughts out so desperately
That makes us feel saved?
What is it about writing or singing solemnly
That relieves our sadness so?
Or drawing or playing
More black than ivory keys
That helps us let it go?
Are you a writer, my friend?
Then can you some wisdom lend?
For I’m struggling to know if it’s hypocrisy
To await pain before picking up my pen.
· 04/03/2016 ·
© 2018 Sihle Atkinson – All Rights Reserved