About The Art Of Writing

I keep pulling at loose threads

on too many minor parachutes

started in my head and on paper

like a horrible hurricane in hell

which never ends

until I attend

some pieces

with my knowledge and skills

metamorphosing it into one major

with my signature

scribbled at the end

with hopeful intention

of leaving my tormented head

‘Why can’t the mind write by itself?

Like the lie detector, for instance

scrupulously sewing syllables

into one perfect masterpiece’

‘No, it can’t happen that way

because how could you sweat, struggle, and sink

otherwise

in a sea of unknown kind?

How will you tell then good from evil

in this world

if your mind would write

your every word?

You couldn’t learn anything

If you ran without stopping

you would trip over your own feet

and even stood in your faeces

without knowing it

because you would be so impressed

of your sprint

instead of a marathon

what writing really is’

‘Really?

So at least now I finally know, eh?’

-

18 August 2021

revised on 27 January 2022

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Thank you for reading!