I wrote this poem about the eternal conflict between a writer’s desire to live life fully, and his entrapment, in the habits that make him successful. My wish is, that each of you, who seek to write, strike a happy balance in your own lives. It should never be either/or.
Thanks for coming by to read.
On the second floor
(A rarity in Florida,)
He hides behind the door,
And hunches o’er
Forgotten lore
And sweet ephemera.
Great, but all alone,
His latest work, hot off the press,
He strokes each weary tome,
And makes his home
Amongst the glome,
By dusty words, caressed.
He drinks his coffee black,
And shirks all excess luxury,
And counts the cliquey clacks,
And what he lacks,
He dices, hacks,
In jealous usury.
This dowdy little friar,
He illustrates, illuminates.
He strums us, like a lyre,
And sets afire
Our worst desires,
And mocks our loves and hates.
On the second floor,
A single window is a-lighted.
Through the corner pane, he pours
His glance upon the glinting shore,
And in his boredom
Longs for more:
To live his life. Not write it.
Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew
For a horror story told in verse read Good Fortune.
For more poems on writing read A Word or The Quill.
For a sonnet to the Bard of Bards (Shakespeare) read Jacques.
Oddly enough, the older I get, writing my life has become living my life.
If your life and your writing are one and the same, perhaps you have already achieved the perfect balance. 😊
I like the Hemingway quote about standing up to live, before you sit down to write. It’s a good answer to youthful angst about what to write.
And I think generally you can do many things in life, as long as you do them one at a time. I also have experienced that the obligations of family and budget can stand in the way of putting two sentences together, for sure.
Each of us finds his or her own recipe for and definition of success. We can but try our best.
Keep writing!