InsomniaA Poem by vigorit is the inescapable duty of every writer to write something about insomnia, and about writer's block. this is my fulfillment of the former requirement.
Previous Version This is a previous version of Insomnia.
i went to music school in tennessee.
outside my room lived a mockingbird who sang at three o'clock in the morning.
i liked to think her song was full of despair, the loneliness of awakeness at this desperate, transitory hour
and so i felt with her a certain solidarity which i reserved for non-humans:
the love-eyed dogs on strange leashes, the fragrant exuberance of lilies,
but now, in alabama, still unwittingly awake as the crickets chorus softly
i recall her exuberant liquid singing, the joyful trills, the improvised melodies twisting upon each other, infinite varations, a song of the brilliance of creation, a celebration of being a songbird, songs she'd heard around her forever and new songs spun instantly from the golden threads of her own soul, all of it, joyfully twisting skyward, crazily on and on, up and up, without pause, without slowing, tapping into an inexhaustible source, as if compelled by that mechanism which compels dogs to love, and ferns to fractal and coil, and trees to produce ten thousand flashing leaves,
and i recall for myself the very occasional joy of aloneness, the secret solidarity with god (these were the only nights I believed in god), spinning out bach-devised melodies and then my own, in a practice room my own private joy in the bedeviled hour of the night
and realize i may have misplaced my feelings of companionship
and in fact should not have been listening at all © 2009 vigorReviews
|
Stats
9 Views
Added on June 17, 2009 Last Updated on June 17, 2009 Previous Versions Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|