There is not much hope
for an unemployed poet
when nobody cares for
the words that he’s wrote.
Day after day trying
to come up with ideas
only to throw them away
for no good reason.
Unhappy that he has
no story to tell
he retreats further
into his lonely shell.
Words are his life but he is
unable to get them out,
a prisoner of a shyness
that fills him with doubt.
No one seems to
understand what it’s like
to have so much to say
only for your words to go on strike.
He prays that someday
an idea will strike like lightning
to fill up his pages with words
which he does not mind reciting.
Look, your words are not on strike, they are fricking powerful. You wrote what many of us feel, but few of us know how to express. Your words are right there, ready to bloom into exquisite poetry, just water them. Water them daily…
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Thanks very much, some days can be better then others!
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thumbs up for @Jackie Lowe’s comment above. Also, imo, words will come easier after experience and reflection. The river flows at its own pace. Cheers!
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Sad but true in some ways. I sure wish important things like poetry and philosophy were rewarded and celebrated more in our culture!
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Simply elegant. ❤️🦋🌀
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Very relatable! I think we all go through feeling like this!
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Keep on writing 😊
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Will do.
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😊
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brilliant poem
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Thank you.
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