Was all this wasA Poem by Borislava Zo"I wish I could write as good as I used to" she said one night .... Or maybe it was all a lie... Something she had imagined.. A product of her mind, a perception she was having, an overrated feeling of pride?.... As if a writer, as if she could ever become that. Aware of the facts... she glanced at the pile of papers. they smiled back, mocking her efforts to become one.. Writer.. Someone.. Anyone.. unfulfilled childish dreams... was all this was. Dare call herself a writer... How sad.. Not even a fraction of a blurred reflection to a sentence of their most humble masterpiece... was all this was. Those flawless masters that had perfected every line... whose letters in divine order collided Into formations of expression orchestrated behind the curtains of their mind... the sounds of meaning reaching their destination numerous, millions of times... Generation after generation into the hearts of humankind. So...how dare she mention her existence.. How dare she say she writes! No place for comparison to their immortal legacy and might.. to those with the vocabulary, vision, adjectives and rhymes... As if English was her native, as if she had talent to find the right word or expression to portray an emotion, that her mental function failed to categorize.. Then she realized.. Maybe my words are useless, to be heard only by the wind.. Maybe this is the realization... Perhaps I'm just a dream.. Perhaps I never was.. Perhaps nothing is... ******************************************** Smoke and ash accompanied the darkness Pieces of a puzzle now left to burn, empty meaningless letters on a page of a notebook forever to be left untouched.. Just a dream... within a hallucination, within inception... of another dimension, Just an illusion of a bipolarized mind. Story with anonymous writer, whose audience was the midnight sky. ******************************************** She woke up next morning, aching from a papercut, She looked at the torn pages, and the empty notebook, whose black covers where now open... As if somehow proud of its first content.. The first page was no longer empty, but colored with her blood.. ******************************************* © 2017 Borislava Zo |
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Added on September 24, 2017 Last Updated on September 24, 2017 Author
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