My Fear.

It's exhilarating and humiliating at the same time

To admit that my life

Can simply be reduced to a 216 page Word document.

216 pages.

The pinnacle of my existence.

It's what I do.

It's the only thing I do well,

Or so I'd like to think.

It's the one thing I understand

Without getting it.

That's right.

216 pages of poetry.

Spanning oh... a year?

22 pages of which are "love" poems.

As I was trying to compile some sort of

Amalgamation of love poems

It was difficult.

All of my poems are love poems.

To the Sea, the Sky, the Birds,

The Earth.

Only a few are actually about a boy.

A human love.

Something silly like that.

And all of the human love poems

Are ridiculously the same.

With seas and starry eyes

In the pale morning light

Or the dusk.

Perhaps certain people

Only evoke certain things.

Maybe he's just

Bearer of the sea to me.

Just the guy

With Pale Blue Eyes.

(They're mentioned all the time, regrettably)

I think it's sort of horrid,

How my life is a document full of words.

Sure, I guess a lot of people amounted to words.

Eliot, Pound, Cummings, etc...

But they were good.

There's that key difference separating me from them.

They had superb skill and talent.

They were beautiful crafters of language.

Manipulators of the verbs, nouns, and adjectives.

Bearers of truth and justice

In a world full of lies and deception.

There's a great and deep sea I have to

Transcend

To land my ship on the shores

Of Good Poetry.

Perhaps someday

I'll be able to do so

And have tea with

All of the dead greats.

Why do they all have to die, anyways?

Certain people

Should be immortal.

I guess, in time we'll see if the tempest

Is simply too strong.

But god forbid I give up altogether, ever.

I'll go down with my ship, by George, I will!

I'll tie myself to the mast and scream

My last profanities as I plunge into the sea

Before I give up.

Life is certainly worth fighting for,

Am I right?

Maybe I'm being fanatical,

Maybe not.

But 216 pages is a good place to start building

My ship, to get it ready to venture

On an endless, perilous journey.

I cannot wait.