the world within me
Author: Ella

Chapter 79
the writer's greatest fear

The writer’s greatest fear

All those words are the same

In case you haven’t noticed

And I hate those that make you laugh

It shouldn’t be what I practise


I never thought it could end

When once it flowed so fast

But all that seems original

Is but a thing of the past


I used to talk about pain

And every other sorrow

It brought me inspiration

For another poem tomorrow


But now I know it bores

It’s all turning out the same

No longer weaved together

Like a clever, thrilling game

It’s superficial, surface

Means nothing anymore

When everything sounds similar

It reminds you of the days before


When I thought it would never end

When I held such a naïve hope

Now I finally feel lost

No more words to cope


Recently I feel like writing

Yet not knowing the words to say

Everything that comes to mind

Fragmented by each day


No more that flowing story

That could capture every heart

Now choppily in chapters

Broken down by part


It used to be natural

The emotions I describe

It used to feel so real

The techniques I subscribe


Yet now I feel I lost it

Satisfaction could have killed

And now such satiation

Has made my writing stilled


How boring to read the same thing

I realised that too late

And long for something new

How long more must I wait


That familiar subtle voice

Telling me go write

Compose some amazing story

Finish it by night


I used to have that passion

The stamina to do so

But now it doesn’t come

Overconfidence I know


Please grant me again

That weakness that I had

For it made me so much stronger

Made my soul so glad


I long for the days it used to flow

I thought there would be no end

But now it seems repeatedly

No more origin to defend


Very much like a song

The chorus flows again

And I can only think of

Writing about my pain


This melancholy will surely tire

And deter those who were touched

But shall I let it affect me

Could I care so much


And again I say, repeat

I used to think it was endless

But now I see so clearly

That thought was rather senseless


When you are a writer

It’s a nightmare to feel lost

When everything that comes out

Comes out with a cost


When every sentence in fragments

When they don’t string so well

When stories lose their focus

No more a story they tell


Just some random chapters

Compressed to fit in a book

A writer cannot bear

To take another look


What once would capture hearts

And stain pages with its tears

Now left with no more substance

The writer’s greatest fears


But perhaps I found once again

The flow of mine own song

To write about losing this

Seems more right than wrong

It brings me back to weaving

When I realise what I lost

The confidence had surely

Made me pay the cost


So sing along with me

Be glad with every writer

When he has found his melody

He becomes an author


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