it has been 5 months
my poems have sloughed into random thoughts
my vocabulary has been stunted
only remembering words I knew before this stunt
learning about pauses and verse
not expanding or challanging
not becoming a better writer
just a lazy man trying to complete a task
the fear of the consitency
originality, and insperation
become dull when forced
poems for the sake of poems
repetition for the sake of familiarity
our society is mirrrored by my mental hibernation
do what is easy and familiar
not what could get you fired, or chastized
to become something you must risk something
I speak of risk, and take liberties with so much
but where I draw the line is apparently what defines me
who I want to be is not who I am
who I work to be is not who I want to be
the first sentance is a good thing
the second not so much
I will write better poems.
look for the caesurae
as they will appear my friend
they will appear.
caesura \sih-ZHUR-uh; -ZUR-\, noun;
plural caesuras or caesurae \sih-ZHUR-ee; -ZUR-ee\:
1. A break or pause in a line of verse, usually occurring in the middle of a line, and indicated in scanning by a double vertical line; for example, "The proper study || of mankind is man" [Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man].
2. Any break, pause, or interruption.
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