An everending Story


Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

How sullen is eternity! It sits sulky through the years,

Softly murmuring of boredom to a crowd of heedless ears.

Satisfaction needs a structure. Stories must begin and end.

In between, we need a climax, where we lose or gain a friend.

Life is not some miniseries, trailing bleary off the map,

It is true we'll all be canceled, but who knows when sounds the clap

Of the clapboard setting boundaries? There's no sure way to plan.

But despite that, we must all assume we have time to achieve

All our fondest soothing victories, till life grants us our reprieve.

At last, we long for denouement, untangling of our lines,

Some restful falling action, a soft chair to rest our spines.

In writing, though, at any time we might place our full stop.

We can deliberate just when to let the penny drop.

And then again, we squat and draw the sentence fresh,

Continuing what we began, catch moths within our mesh.

So life and fiction can be stirred into a fragrant broth,

In which our living lives in words. We weave the vivid cloth.


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  • Published 8 years ago.
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