I Write

I ask myself what I want to write
It’s what we do – you and I
- I write
- you read
and from there on we continue

So – I tap my pencil
- well, okay, that’s a bit of a lie
I don’t tap my pencil because I don’t
write – with a pencil
so – I tap my fingers
against the keys on a keyboard
- or against my mouth as I ponder
and I wonder - and I muse
and I ask myself what I want to write
- if I want to try and
have a go at trying again
to define who I am - as a writer
what I want to show you - my reader
what I want to show myself - my secrets

once more creaking open the lid
- slowly
with a yawning groan
- deep down -
an expanse of sapphire melodies
burning with a dormant rage
in a forest of stilted insecurities hidden beneath
an elegant curtain of sarcastic passions
- what I think I know and what you know is fake
everything filed away on a bookshelf
- deeper -
my library of jewelled wonders
- a fun fact
my sister’s wedding
- a stray thought
or the memory of the time that I failed
- all sitting side by side
- even deeper -
not so silent
humming with the eagerness of hope
- the slim chance
that the world is not disenchanted
awaiting the day there shall be wonder again
when danger and the unknown return to the world
and quench this silent thirst
for the electric need of the dramatic
the submission to a greater power
the derangement of the senses
a hero’s quest and a happy ending
the perfect death and a bloody beginning

- And so I write and I finish – and then I hum