Why do I write?
Well, how could I not?
When my head and my heart are bursting!
Why do I write?
Well, how could I stop?
When my ears and my eyes so fill me!
Why do I write?
Can I stop the dreams?
Could I starve my muse from her passion?
Why do I write?
Without all these words,
I don’t know if I could keep breathing!
Must I then write?
I suppose I could stop,
and keep all the words inside me.
But how would I sleep?
How could I dream?
Without my words to free me!
Today there is no specific challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, since it’s Open Link Monday. There was, however, an urging call to us who use this site to take a look at who we are as poets and why we write. This was done by linking a letter from Rainer Maria Rilke to an aspiring poet who has sought his opinion on his work. Even before I’d finished reading the excerpt from this letter, and before I clicked through to read it in its entirety, the above lines poured into my head.
I suppose my two years of absence from this blog proves I can go without writing, and yes, I could choose a less competitive way of going about this – rather than signing up to all these prompts hoping for approval from my peers, but at the same time… Writing makes me feel good. I feel as if I’ve achieved something – although perhaps just a scribble. I’ve always written, even if it’s just been in the solitude of my own head (a place that can be less solitary than you’d think)… Why should I stop now when I’m finally strong enough to let people read? But enough about me, these are the words that came to me. Hope you enjoyed!
There is just no way
A Glass of Bubbly 