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You know, when writing within the muse’s cradled arms, what comes out contains shards of truth, biting nuances of perceived reality, and pure, unadulterated fiction. For the writer, fears emerge as to whether an audience will sort the various parts into incorrect categories. Every writer places pieces of themselves in their endeavors, yet this does not mean everything written in ink also finds itself in stone.

The Stephen King quote that “fiction is the truth within the lie” tends to be understood by writers far more than readers. Readers search for that vicarious slice of life where they may connect and live through another’s words. Writers strive to create something which touches and moves readers to this desired place.

This intro feels like a lengthy disclaimer. When writing something in “passion” or “emotion” as a writer I feed off the emotion and allow the muse to follow “what if” scenarios. I seldom know where this will lead, dark or light, angry or funny, intelligent or just plain lame. Whenever I post poetry, if something I’ve written causes me to hesitate, I usually click the “Publish” button right away because this means I’ve written something I fear may not be well received by some.

This particular poem I allowed to simmer overnight only because the “darkness” contained in the words do not particularly reflect where I’m at in this stage of my life. But I felt the muse’s touch so strongly I knew I would have to publish the work. Upon rereading the poem just now, I felt the mood captured yesterday. I feel it. That’s enough for me to publish…

So, if you write and you hesitate once you’ve written something, work to overcome the fear of potential backlash or misinterpretation. If you don’t, the world will be robbed of something which likely may touch someone. I enjoyed writing this piece as well as rereading it. I hope you feel the same…

Sad woman on chairAberration

Love. Deeper than the darkest soul
Love. Longer than the celestial night
Love. Warmer than the kindest hand
Love. Stronger than the thoughts of men

He felt her release him in subtle, gentle ways
Withdrawals from the brushstrokes which had painted their days
He endured the pings and pangs of pain
In the recession of love’s waning reign

He knew she wouldn’t keep him near
He felt the anguish of love’s sweet fear
He recognized her fading face
Cold barren nights – no love in place

Love. Deeper than the haunting wind
Love. Longer than when life begins
Love. Warmer than the wish of the soul
Love. Stronger than its growing hole

Her attention fell to threadbare strands
He struggled, desperate to understand
He felt as though his life would end
In the loss of love, his mate, his friend

In failing strength he refused to die
He never asked her why, but – why?
He loved so deep he would never recover
Wrought by separation from his true dream lover

Love. Deeper than the most shallow breath
Love. Longer than memory – it won’t forget
Love. Warmer than adoration in fashion
Love. Stronger than vigorous passion

Falling away piece by piece
He feared the last particle of release
He fell to his knees and cried from his station
Loss of this love – an aberration…

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