I don’t care if you don’t like it, for I am content.
I use my words,
someone’s words,
for I of course did not create the language;
to make a story, a tragedy,
that drips off the reader’s lips like honey
when they read...
if they ever read.
I learn of creation.
I hold it in my hand;
ever so delicate, the little thing
it cries out to be completed,
effort goes into it day by day...
I learn of time.
Spending what seems like years
searching for the right word,
it is never there,
until suddenly it is...
I learn of frustration.
I learn of triumph.
The words I mangle together
occasionally get out into the world
sometimes people enjoy them,
sometimes they do not
I haven’t a care,
for I have finished
Something...
I learn of contentment,
harmony, peace at last.