What is there left to say?

[Norman]

I cannot write,

I have no words left to say,

Though in the dreams I hold,

I have the wisdom to call

In this mortal void,

There is no wisdom,

Just the sword on which I fall.

 

Though the pen be my solitude,

The fortress of my soul’s design,

I cannot cure this, the words elude,

My voice dry, desiccated upon the air.

My blood will not flow, no ink can I spill.

The words of my soul’s quill,

Cannot sound for they are not written,

Just scratches upon my eyes

To blind me, and hide reality’s vision.

 

Melt back into darkness my sweet gift,

Go back to the shadows and enjoy your death,

No words can be spilled then, fed by my soul,

No tears can be shed then, drawn by my quill.

Let my soul free from is talent less task

Let me breath free from this awen at last.

 

I cannot write,

I have no words left to say,

Though in my dreams I hold,

Until the day my dream is told

I shall not sing,

I shall not sing.

 

-Norman

[Wyvern]

I like this poem a lot, Norman. :-) One of my favorite parts about this piece is how you connect the concept of writing so closely to emotions and physical reactions, which is done really well in the second stanza with lines like "My blood will not flow, no ink can I spill./ The words of my soul's quill" and the excellent image of the words being like "scratches upon my eyes/ To blind me, and hide reality's vision." The imagery and themes of that stanza were very strong and stood out to me, and you do a good job of stringing that same type of connection throughout the poem with good spacing and phrasing. Things get a little sloppy around the end of the third stanza, I think, and you should consider revisiting the last two lines of that stanza in particular as I had somewhat of a difficult time making sense of them.

 

Anyway, thanks for sharing this here Norman. :-) I'm glad that, despite the statements of this poem, you have a bit of writing in you yet!

[Norman]

I cannot write,

I have no words left to say,

Though in the dreams I hold,

I have the wisdom to call

In this mortal void,

There is no wisdom,

Just the sword on which I fall.

 

Though the pen be my solitude,

The fortress of my soul’s design,

I cannot cure this, the words elude,

My voice dry, desiccated upon the air.

My blood will not flow, no ink can I spill.

The words of my soul’s quill,

Cannot sound for they are not written,

Just scratches upon my eyes

To blind me, and hide reality’s vision.

 

Melt back into darkness my sweet gift,

Go back to the shadows and enjoy your death,

No words can be spilled then, fed by my soul,

No tears can be shed then, drawn by my quill.

Let my soul free from is talent less task

Let me breath free from this awen at last.

 

I cannot write,

I have no words left to say,

Though in my dreams I hold,

Until the day my dream is told

The blade within my soul shall dip

No inked nib my soul will speak

Mere pain cutting deep

‘Til time again awakes

My gift shall sleep

 

 

-Norman

 

My thanks to you oh mighty Almost Dragon, last two lines never really worked right, see, so a bit of time and fresh eyes and well, sorta nailed the image to the mind so to speak and lets it fall to the page better. I do appreciate the critique, my thanks to you.

-Norman