Poem of the Week: For Those Who Were Born to Write

For Those Who Were Born to Write
September 12, 2014

Always on your feet, no time to yourself,
Always being hounded to serve everybody else,
Little to no chance to do what you need to do,
Little if any foresight to know that you’ll pull through,
But you keep on working anyways as guided by your will,
Swallowing the thought of rejection, that jagged little pill,
Trying to stay focused on the task sitting before you,
Resisting the urge to get sidetracked, should said task bore you,
Failing miserably at times ‘cause your work can be hard,
Trying to make sense and logic on a mostly blank white card
With details here, less details there, a fetching plot all the way through,
Relatable characters from start to end, all concocted by you.
What becomes of your work, though, when you’re at long last done?
Does it finally hit the shelves to be enjoyed by everyone,
Or do those in power dismiss it as naught but a waste of time
And cash and thus turn it down for something more sublime?
Should it be dismissed, too, just what is the excuse?
Is the recipient genteel, or does he/she feed you abuse,
And how long are you expected to go on without reward?
How many more years of rejected effort can you afford?
What else can you do? What else does it take
Before a legacy and a fortune you may make?
Even when you’re accepted, how long will your star shine?
Will the stories that you tell provide a literary gold mine
For readers to enjoy throughout the ages from then on out,
Or will you last only one tale and then be forgotten about?
Also, should you be famous, will you attain true fame
And deserve all the praise and riches you’re sure to attain,
Or will you be rightfully reviled for producing tasteless dreck
That only the most wayward individual would loathe to forget?
Such are the many questions that float through a writer’s head,
Producing enough uncertainly from which can spawn sheer dread,
But giving up is no option, if for naught but one reason:
Surrendering to one’s dubiety is never in season—
Not if one wishes, anyways, to make a career of one’s hobby,
Which is why—for me, at least—the solution is to continue to lobby
For my work to reach the masses on as broad a scale as I can
And hope that my words will be read by eyes from every land
And to turn what I love into something I can only love even more,
For who knows what the fulfillment of such a dream has in store
For me, should it ever happen? Thus, I hope you’ll excuse me,
For ‘tis time I proved to all just how dedicated I can be
And carry on in my mission to bring my work to life,
No matter the obstacles that threaten to burden me with strife.
I was born to write, after all, and keep on writing I will
Until my dreams are finally fulfilled. Ah, what a thrill!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com




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