I have been feeling rather guilty about the state of my writing lately. There are a good many factors into why, exactly, not writing is weighing on me almost like a sin, but the long and short of it is that for a very long time I had an excellent excuse for not writing, nor even feeling motivated to write. I was sick and didn't know it. I was simply too tired to think about being creative. That is no longer the case. I feel quite robust, and I am wildly creative these days. I am doing beading projects, crochet projects, the occasional scribble which I refer to as 'art'... but letters seem to be eluding me. Or rather, I am out of practice with the butterfly-hunter type of patience required to produce writing. I go out with my net to stalk my story, and it flutters nervously around until Every Thing Else intrudes upon my hunt, and I forget butterfly-plots and sit there, letting life wash over me. I suppose that in itself is not really a bad thing, but the problem is that for the first time in a very long time, I have story ideas which I am very excited about, and I want to write. I just lack discipline and commitment. And then... Well, I feel like I am allowing my talents are going to waste, and this weighs on me.
So, I have been looking for ways to make myself accountable somehow. And that means that I have done something I shall probably regret in a couple days: I am taking the Poem-A-Day Challenge. And, in the interest of making myself exceptionally accountable, I am admitting this folly in public, and hope to post the poems here most days.
Morituri te salutant.
Today's prompt was "resistance." I doubt this is really what anyone had in mind with that prompt, but this is what I came up with:
My Lord, what is Your will of me?
Long have I striven against the Sea;
In roaring storms have tried to stand,
To keep my feet on shifting sand,
To hold my ground nor think to flee.
And all for naught, or so it seems -
Sea-rocks awash with broken dreams.
Hopes have come to wreck and rue,
And false proved loves I thought were true -
False the course I set for You.
Surf sounds mocking, and gull birds scream...
And do I now forsake the fight,
Despair forever of Your sight?
Or do I choose to stand instead;
Hope, though all my hopes are fled;
Take courage, though the heart lies dead;
And brave the wrongs to make them right?
Behold, alone in wind and sand,
By raging Sea on storm-wracked strand,
I strive to set my course anew,
And trust, though I've no sight of You,
Wrest joy from sorrow - laughter too,
Keep my feet and make my stand.