THE LIFE OF THIS WRITER
A Writer’s lot—
full of drama and harrowing acts
caused if not by our own minds
to write about
then in our lives
so that instead of fiction
about life we can write.
We refuse to Journal
because we crave
approval from someone else—
someone from our time
who finds our lives
so unbecoming
that they know not
how to judge us.
Our unsavory rudeness
reflects our hearts—
lashing out at those
whose opinions matter
great and/or small
Because it is they who haven’t
the answers or cares
we seek.
If the world were in harmony
there’d be no writers,
no sorrow, no hatred,
jealousy or broken hearts to exist,
For nothing
would need to be written.
Eternal happiness
conflates within us
only after extreme grief.
Writers record
events of our time
kept for the future
to remind.
The loneliness of one
confiding in the voices
of the mind
is ours, and ours alone—
like Atlas,
the world is on our shoulders
and we’ll have it no other way.
Drugs, abuse
or suicide
often plague us—
we, who seek the truths
of ghosts and living dead
for answers and stories
we most often do not find.
We seek in other places
those answers to our
screaming questions—
our desires that burn
our fingers as we write.
When we have exhausted
every resource, we begin to cause
the drama and grief
of those unknown
to experience, the outcome
of which they never tell.
Delving head first, we then understand
that their lives of horror
are most assuredly killing our souls.
Redemption is only found
not in the light as some will say,
but in the quiet—
the darkness—
where voices
are forever silenced.
© Nicole E. Hirschi 2012
Nicole E. Hirschi, MuDJoB's first guest writer two years ago, writes when Muse and Time agree with her. Also known as CJT (and variations thereof), her short flashes can be found splashed acoss the 'Net and in a number of books as well.