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Blanked Over

blanked-over

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

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