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Passing Time

I have have left all words and phrases behind.
All paragraphs and ramblind that come to mind.
I am driven by some outward notion
That drives me to feel such strange incongruent emotion.
Alas these rambling of mine have ever been lost
And to doubt this, is to pay a seemly cost,
One that would seem so self assured
As if all disease within me had been cured.
But only for a moment. Half a moment even, no,
Half of that half so that I am not left pacing to and fro!
Oh what have I created here? What has driven this stake
Straight to this mad hatter heat that does so easily break,
Only to twist the rhymes and schemes of things undone
Only to twist and twist and turn so that thoughts do run
Ever downward, ever spiraling, ever confused
So that the tormented reader and writer alike, left bemused.
And look...look how the clock does naught by wind on
On and on and on, drifting ever closer to a day's new dawn.
But a dawn that hold nothing but what has come before
For ever day that passes leaves me want more. More,
More of what I once had so securely in my grasp
So secure thought I that it need no clasp
No lock and key to hold it ever more to my heart
Never, never I say! Did I think it would ever depart.
And I, the wretched cursing crawling creature I be
I who claimed to have loved, refused to set it free.
For what would be the purpose of such a mindless deed?
If only I knew. If only I too had seen the need.
"Perhaps, perhaps," I whisper to myself on cold nights,
"Perhaps, had I seen the need, I could have set it to rights."
How unfourtunate that the ashes have now grown cold
And that the weariness in my bones is for a man of old,
A man who is not the age that I am set.
A long lived man with all the long lived regret.
How did such a thing come to pass? How, and why?
I shake my head. I do not know, nor ever shall I.
For what good would it to this worn frame of mine?
What good would it do, but soak my wounds in brine.
Ha. Ha ha, Ah clever jest that I half-heartedly make.
I tell you now, reverse these wounds, my heart is your to take.

*snatches Heart* You give it so freely.
I wish I possessed the skills of critiquing.
I'll start rating you work shall I?
8.99/10.

Critiquing is simple. First tell me what you liked and why. Then tell me what you didn't like and why, and then offer your opinion on what I can do to improve.

The meaning of meaning is meant
To mean whatever is meant that means
Meaning mean and meaning and meant
Mean, the meanings of meant mean and meaning.

I like it (right above me) because I've no idea what it means but I feel like I agree completely with it; ah the beauty of post-modernism and subjectivity.

wow! poetry? amazing!

I don't know if you'll see this so I'm also going to post on your page, but your poety is amazing... I'm a writer myself (though not a poet) and I grew up with a poet for a father, so I understand what it's like to have so much words inside you and feel that you just have to get them out or you'll explode from the unused words, I love your take on life and human nature, I beg you keep it up... if you get the chance i have something of mine on this under KirstAngel, the beginings of my writing, I need coments on it and those of another writer will help...

7:15 AM Standard Eastern Time

Currently it is 7:15 AM Standard Eastern Time
I am enjoying a tea and plain bagel
With the slightest hint of cream cheese.
The clock has moved on to 7:16
And here I still sit
Watching as words flow into observasion,
Only to sip my tea, and wonder at the day ahead.
Wondering if it, being 7:17 is already too late
To return to my bed. I cannot alas, for my hair
Is in need of a cutting, which will be at 9 AM
Standard Eastern Time. Funny thing time.
It is 7:18, and the time is drawing to an end
How much, is down I cannot say, cannot hope to comprehend.
For somewhere in this mass of words lie meanings
The mind has not yet come to grasp.
7:19 as I struggle to chew my bagel, sip my tea and
Posses such words as I do. To write until the final second
While enjoying this morning. Alas, time draws near an end.
7:20 is when this will all end.

**Author's Note: I wrote this all as it happened within the 5 minutes as a fun experiment. Enjoy.

I wrote this all as it happened

Hence the spelling mistakes?

What am I supposed to put here? Words are so hard to come by of late. It's a struggle just to organize these few sentences, as my attention keeps drifting to another fruitless distraction that will be discarded in five minutes.

As you may have noticed (or not) I didn't compete in the Poetry or Haiku contests this week. This wasn't out of some misplaced sense of good cheer to allow others a fighting chance; because, one I'm not that arrogant to even think that, and two I have been suffering a case of Writer's Death (A severe form of Writer's Block). Now, I am not dead, per se, but lately I've been lacking inspiration and the ability to write. I have the words I want to say, but, I simply cannot get them out. Those of you who decided to see the begginning of my novel will be disappointed to know that I am currently under a heavy plot and structure revision and will be rewritting the entire begginning, along with the structure of my story and the world it takes place in. I hope you guys (the few of you who actually read this crap) bare with me while I completely restructure something I've already put almost five years of effort into. If you wish to know the cause of this restructuring I suggest you read Steven Erikson's work, because he has a simillar style to how I write, though he is much better. Oh, and before some wise guy accuses me of thought theft (believe it or not that's a crime) I am not using any of his ideas directly, I am simply using how he structures his plots and how things flow, also I am stealing BASIC ideas to use as ground work for my own UNIQUE creations. While his system of magic intrigues me I like my system better which I personally invented.

Anyway...inspiration. I've been lacking inspiration of late so I decided to do what I usually do. Read. A lot. Not only have I ravaged through my current novel, House of Chains, I have looked toward the internet, and perhaps the most peculiar source of inspiration, webcomics. For some reason I stumbled across two after jumping from site to site using one of my favourites Least I Could Do as a starting platform. Low and behold I came across Treading Ground and In Between Failures. The plots were intriguing and the characters well developed, so in order to get my mind back on track I've decided to write a series of very short, short stories. For those of you who care I present...

Existence in Denial

this crap

Don't unicorns defecate rainbows?

I was trying to make you feel better about your writing. It was saying that "this crap" is like unicorns' crap, which is supposedly rainbows. And rainbows are generally good things.

I seem to confuse you a lot, don't I?