Writ April 14,
Some time after Midnight
“Maybe there’s a place for me in this,
Maybe there’s a life I should not miss,”
I wash across these days
hit one by one
but all together
Was said, “Even if all my bones are broken,
I will drag myself back from the edge…”
Thought it was me,
Or at the very least embodied in text;
____________We will see.
As the days wash over me.
It is late. I should sleep.
I cannot now mass produce the art as I once did,
_____________________________________nor should I,
But it is calling me
I am compelled.
The eyes of my head
___Still swim as they once did
___As the days wash over me
I am compelled.
To you who are silent,
I feel compelled, though I know I am not.
It really is late.
At the very least I am compelled by myself.
The quiet grows loud.
It is dark and cold and
I am compelled,
As the days wash over me,
And I look back and see
Where am I supposed to be?
But more recently,
What can I make of this grand project,
Now abandoned so, collecting dust?
Needs some reworking; another touch but,
Is it too grand for me?
A step past knowledge and insensitivity.
Must the format change?
Can I even keep up,
Frustrating, grand, rearrange,
Research required, the work and pain.
So much has changed now,
The map is different
Internal landscapes shifted,
What can, after all this, remain?
Or will it instead collect dust.
Or will I open up again this novel tome
And hide away as I work,
Let liberally the pen roam?
Few more days, counting down,
The world will not stabilize for weeks and I
Will end as I started,
On The Harbor, in the dark,
Wondering about our silence,
And my compellation
And it is cold
And soon I will sleep
And spring is coming
And I will wake too late in the day,
But I will still do what I must,
By the time you read this, it will be one day after my final exam.