The writer 1989- Adjusted January 2013

writer’s block

The writer
————-

Indelible hole
Irreplaceable void
Lassitude and
Despair.

Impossible
To share
He monologues
Relentlessly

The same
Refrain
Gripping
This trough

The void
Resented.
He shouts
And screams

Silently.
Appealing
Petitioning
For a truce

Reconciliation
To his page
The ink
Ingested

Words devoured
Ingurgitated
By the secrecy
Taciturnity

Of his folio
Yet faithful
As a blotter
Absorbing

His pain
Tears
Anguish
Inhabiting his

Restlessness.
Wanting
To notice
Dewdrops

Snowflakes
Perfume of
A flower tree.
Rainbows

The miracle
Of crepuscule
Intact
Brightness

Of a first
Layer of snow
Thaumaturgy
Of aurora

Smile of
A passer-by
Simple
And grand

Big and small
Opposite yet
Complementary
The Sui generis

Marvel
Of our planet
For one hour
Or more

To find relief
In his new
Felicity.
His thoughts

Bouncing off
The walls
Hurling this
Delicacy

This tribute
To life.
Back with
Ferocity.

Stunning him
For a fraction
Then taking
His page

Renew
The treatise
In a last attempt
To capture

The truth
Of his life
The one he can
Put on his

Faithful page.

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The past of a very dark day. Sep. 2012 ( Oa essay )

©copyright2013owpp

This is a article I should remember to read when my abstinence quivers or doubts.
Am I glad we don’t have many moments like these in our lives!
There is truly, nothing that tastes better than abstinence.

Dark moment
——————

People usually die once. I have died a few deaths and keep on doing so.
Occasionally, I come back to the living, but end it off, of my own accord.

Some have others torturing them. A partner, husband, friend, colleague… I am privileged. I have my own torturer. ME.
I destroy myself. I am my worst enemy. I attack myself, by stuffing my body with food I don’t even desire or savor. Always in search of some taste bud-thrill, that will entertain my pallet a while longer.
It is a food-rage. It kills my soul, bit by bit. I have gone a thousand times to hell and back. Now, nothing seems to bring me home. I am spiraling downwards and speed my fall by letting go of all the ropes. No relief in sight.
Pain is the only feeling that visits my solitude.
This “ now “ is not the companion I was looking for. I try to shake it off but it sticks to my ego, my famous ego. You know, the one that takes so much space, there is no room for beauty. Just trouble.
I have been told to let go of it and have tried but do not know how.
My journey could have been uneventful had I known the secret but, my ego has a long life or maybe seven lives, like the cats, is it not what they say?
So, I resign myself to my cycle of suffering and despair yet in the hope of getting another glance at a paradise I have lived and left in a nearly forgotten past…

The one that people call with a moan and a sigh… LIFE.