Reflections on Words
Why do you write?
they asked
Hah! Such a simple question--
But complicated enough
that I've left it sitting
simmering
for well over a week now
Take your time,
they told me
Three weeks, maybe a month if you need
No problem,
I thought
It's right here
at the core of me
So close
I can almost taste it
I reach for the words--
a long abandoned memory
that lingers
like a childhood tune
the music lodged
in the crooks and crannies
in the far-off regions of my mind
Stretch a bit further
the answer is there,
I tell myself
Is it passion
like a lover's pull
that draws me to the words?
Or solid foundation
holding me close
keeping me steady?
Perhaps it's basic yearning
like the craving for food
or insatiable thirst
that drives me to this madness?
I have to write,
I explain
It seems as though I have no choice
Oh, but I do
I say, contradicting myself
Have a choice, I mean
There is always that
is there not?
What about free will?
I add
Then consider the hours and hours
Composing, rewriting, composing again
What an odd choice to make--
Sifting through all those words
as though there's a buried treasure
to be found at the end of the hunt
Free will...perhaps
Or obsession without end
I write...
it gives me purpose
I write...
it's a part of me
like bones and blood
and the breath taken in
and then pushed out again
I write...
it's my anchor
that allows me to survive
the craziness, the sadness
I write...I write...
And when it seems
as though there are no choices left me
I choose to write
and write
and write...
Reanne Singer, February 12, 2013
Why do you write?
they asked
Hah! Such a simple question--
But complicated enough
that I've left it sitting
simmering
for well over a week now
Take your time,
they told me
Three weeks, maybe a month if you need
No problem,
I thought
It's right here
at the core of me
So close
I can almost taste it
I reach for the words--
a long abandoned memory
that lingers
like a childhood tune
the music lodged
in the crooks and crannies
in the far-off regions of my mind
Stretch a bit further
the answer is there,
I tell myself
Is it passion
like a lover's pull
that draws me to the words?
Or solid foundation
holding me close
keeping me steady?
Perhaps it's basic yearning
like the craving for food
or insatiable thirst
that drives me to this madness?
I have to write,
I explain
It seems as though I have no choice
Oh, but I do
I say, contradicting myself
Have a choice, I mean
There is always that
is there not?
What about free will?
I add
Then consider the hours and hours
Composing, rewriting, composing again
What an odd choice to make--
Sifting through all those words
as though there's a buried treasure
to be found at the end of the hunt
Free will...perhaps
Or obsession without end
I write...
it gives me purpose
I write...
it's a part of me
like bones and blood
and the breath taken in
and then pushed out again
I write...
it's my anchor
that allows me to survive
the craziness, the sadness
I write...I write...
And when it seems
as though there are no choices left me
I choose to write
and write
and write...
Reanne Singer, February 12, 2013