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Sometimes the desire to write does not have to make sense, does it? Sometimes, the desire eats at you until you heed its command. Sometimes, the desire requires you to simply step away from analytical thought and demands you release yourself to the words.

Whether those words translate into sensible conveyance of emotion or not becomes immaterial. Sometimes you simply must ‘let go’ and allow your heart to paint a little. Maybe you’ll step back from your word-infested canvas one day and remark how amazed you are that you once owned insight. Or, how amazed you are at the clueless shallowness of your writing.

Regardless, to obey the demand to write, I submit, is a proper and important step all writers should adopt. Too often we fight our own words, attempting to force that which will rise freely from within. Or, of course, I could simply be an exhausted midnight writer looking for a way to explain what just arrived off my fingertips.

Tonight’s off-the-cuff-poem felt just as described above. Released from within without critic or judgment, I find this style of writing to exemplify Poetry in Black and White. No pretense to perfection, no requirement of the analytics of logic, simply the flow of what lies on the heart…

 

Our Lives

 

Love, our elusive quest,

Drives our hearts through the years.

Some desperate, some fulfilled

Most, willing only to admit love’s basic existence.

 

Purity of expression volcanoes into gestalt epiphanies

Only to be forgotten or neglected

Until one day we awake to feel

And shed a tear at what we lost in the translation of love to life.

 

Night dreams pepper our memories.

Daydreams cloud our remembrances of what actually was.

Simple ideals now seem childish, distant, unreachable,

Yet these very ideals embody the grail we seek.

 

Voices, once our friend and companion,

Fall to whisper and neglect despite our protestations.

We fend off death, too often trying to make sense of everything,

When the only sense we ever owned lived in our hearts.

 

Love is the pursuit, the goal, the mantle.

Joy the challenge of our daily struggle to grasp truth

To clutch it to our chest and sigh

And know our vain trials defined our lives.

 

Without the dream of purity of soul,

Without the heart fueled by love,

We stumble to our imaginary knees and wonder

How in this world did we fail?

 

So step up to love, to ideals, to striving

Embrace the struggle, squeeze all the joy you can from a gloomy day.

Know there survive other hearts who will help you along your way

And save a final breath of thanks for the honor of having given life your best shot.

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