Poetry: #55 Hidden from Within, Sought Throughout (The Search for 3)
And my thoughts after revisiting the words
Hidden from Within, Sought Throughout
Cynical and burned the writer marks the time it takes for his brain to turn Every cycle a hertz, every moment of hurt, every stagnant face of terse… No, no no… No no no… Scratch that too… Every cycle a moment of pain, every hurt as quick as a hertz… The stoic face of the writer grimaces at his own words. Perfection must prevail but perfection takes time. No practice is needed, only continued passion. The key to writing is the misanthropic telltale sign of failure in the writer’s eyes. Seeing what is not right written down for the world to see pushes a writer to do better. The writer must dig deeper, the writer must write deeper. The flow of energy must be made as if magic was in tow. It is magic, the ability to write from one’s heart. It cannot be forced or maintained, only sought through experience and pain. The sorrow of a song writer and the passion of a poet must be converged in the conscious trials they face to truly be delivered. That is the place where I seek to go. That is where I shall go. No faction or foe will stop me. No thoughts of death will sedate me.
What are your thoughts on this poem?
My Thoughts & Takeaway
Would you believe it if I told you that as far as I can tell, all three of these poem drops to start the year contained poems written in the same exact day? That’s what my records show. In any case, we continue the thought process and the motif of searching for the right words and nixing out the ones that aren’t as good at flowing with the line of thought. I am not sure if the line “The sorrow of a song writer and the passion of a poet must be converged in the conscious trials they face to truly be delivered” was written before or after I discovered the quote from Soren Kierkegaard of “A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music…” In the end, I think they go hand in hand.
Poetry, when talking about oneself, must come from the deepest crevices of a person. That is what matters most. Anything short of that is a lie. One might say I was lying in the last collection I shared (the Collector Collection from the end of 2023) but the fact is I was not speaking about myself in every single line. That was a blur of stepping into the shoes of others, trying to understand others, while blending in my deepest crevices along the way. It is not my best work, but it blends what I would call the two major schools of poetry: poetry of self and poetry of the world. I tend to bounce between the two, most often going through cycles of one and then the other.
One thing I still wonder if I made clear to myself as I wrote this, was the idea that I may have referred to myself as a “writer” in this time even as I did not live up to the name. There is no mistake that I am a writer and an author today, but at the time I was not sure. That is why the same year I wrote this, I pushed to self-publish Demise, to prove to myself that I could do it. It was that nudge that continued to nag me in the subsequent years as I strove to get back into writing whilst finding a place professionally that would keep me happy.
If I were to be honest, that goal to achieve something I thought I was capable of by 2015, even if it was three years late, that did more to boost my confidence and push me forward to write prose than anything else. The crazy fact that I dug back in with poetry was simply me trying to pick up where I left off. Sometimes returning where you left off is not possible, or the easiest path back to an ideal. The takeaway if there is one, is that one must have the knowledge deep down inside of them of what they are, and one must actualize it to the best of their abilities. If something doesn’t fit right, try something else. Eventually, you will find a groove and with that groove, success.
I hear another poem is coming every Saturday!