I Call Myself a Writer

I write
to slow down
this ever speeding sphere,
to take a breath
with each and every word to appear,
to pause for a second
to see,
and not hear.

Thoughts whir and wizz through my mind,
racing, always racing,
to keep pace with the time,
that flies out from under my feet,
sweeping my life from beneath
me.

My greatest fear has always been
to lose myself in the blur,
to lose sight of my dreams, return with no cure,
for the ache of the emptiness
of a withered dream,
a lonely heart,
all lost in the scheme
to claim an unattainable glory
that was dangled before me.

I write
to slow down
this ever speeding sphere,
to remember the place I was in, before here.
To rein myself in
lest I neglect
to reflect
on what I hold dear.

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2 thoughts on “I Call Myself a Writer

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