Blanked Over…
The blogs filled with the same old wears,
the same old pills and same despair.
I guess when bias holds the key
The rest of us will not be free
We all have favorites, that is life
complete with forks and spoons and knives
Some thoughts have points, some hold the weight
Some cut the fat, some rime with hate
My core perused, so much to choose
A drawer of views, each one a muse
Pens equipped with multi-facets
Inked and dipped with multi-passions
I dabble with too much each night
It addles oft and causes plight
Sometimes I catch a real gem
The pen lines hatch then grow and stem.
My soul still filled with baited breath.
Cosmetic with its fated depth
So eager I, a poet paused
My empty rooms with no applause
Because my word’s a battle cry
Contentious when I strategize
I tear the page right from its spine
I rock the brains as to remind–
myself to fill the unfulfilled,
To save these words from being killed
To find that weave that one design
The line that cleaves to thinking minds
This penmen’s ink wants to explode
to think, rebuild and then reload
Though outside looking in these days,
in exile where I bill my stays.
The critics harsh, have shut me down
Their blade, my throat, to cut my sound
I sit in limbo with my pen
Perfecting zeroes yet again
To hone my skills of sharpened wit
And contemplate these hypocrites
Where concepts end, I make amends
I pray for love to apprehend
To show them light as though a torch
To guide their way right to the porch
To show what’s in my lyric shack
It’s not so dark or ebon black
But on the shelf, my work amiss,
As if my efforts don’t exist
I stare so blank and then so pissed
In awe at how I was dismissed
No chance at all, no piece of pie,
I catch my echo asking why
It says to me, “If you’re so good,
How come your work has never stood?”
How true it was or so it seems
My talents were Mt. Rushmore dreams
The struggle haunts to elevate
And crush that mount, to dominate
In rubble then to find my mettle
these hands so strained by broken pebbles.
These dreams still tattered on the floor
Neglects have since reopened sores
Heartbroken those defining me
Forsaking those denying me
This same old, same old, on the page
disheartened words that don’t engage
To paper pressed, my pen will write
Through brighter days and bleaker nights.
In battle cries and verbal fights
You’ll hear my name, you’ll know my might
One day someone will cherish me
and give the praise where it should be
Until that day I’m batting down
then on my way to breaking crowns.
So pack your boxes, call your wives,
Be glad you made it out alive
My feet are strong, my shoulders broad
My chin equipped with iron jaws
My heart an earthquake shaking strong
with God beside me all along
I’m in the building, can’t be tossed
I’ll take the wing I never lost.
For those who doubt if I deliver,
Take one hard look into the mirror
This downfall, yours, take it in stride
Wipe off your tears, absorb your pride
Then read these words, don’t pass me by,
And mark this day, you saw inside.
And know
…You will not hold me down
© 2018 Paul Neglia
Comments
Paul Neglia (author) from Poughkeepsie, NY USA on December 23, 2018:
Thank you so much for your kind words.
whonunuwho from United States on December 22, 2018:
Strong words from a strong survivor. Many blessings to you, my friend. Keep on writing...for that is who you are. whonu
