free write... of a thought that is going by ...

I used to write a lot,
A lot, mind you, I
loved it!
I could write what my mind could not
for what these eyes could touch..
like going through blankets of galaxies upon galaxies and finding the right words–
people loved it, I liked sharing it
and I was good at it!
 
What a beautiful tragedy it is to write,
of what you once saw...
of what you once thought would never change..
these eyes,
to write and then be turned..
 
Where Night is no longer, 'Night’... its a place where darkness breathes and the stars are no longer there–
Where Nature is no longer 'Nature’... its a place of sinister trickery  and a mystery of death.. where flowers are blooming and bright and I am  no longer in the most perfect awe but,
I am waiting for them to die..
Where words are no longer 'words’, but a place left open for judgement on its verse ..
and I am always expecting the worst.
 
I don’t know why...
I don’t
I hate opening my eyes every day.. and I hate looking at what I used to be.. I can’t get her back! shes chained...
 
Now the only words I see.. through my eyes
Turned inside out are the words on the walls
drenched in  blood
and they writing, ‘help her please!’

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Robert L. Martin
plus d'un an

She must somehow force herself to remember those words. She is a great writer.

Delilah
Delilah
plus d'un an

Is it normal Robert? I mean you've been a writer for so long and have far more experience than I, of course I know I have potential within me - but I guess what I am trying to make sense of is , do writers go through phases like this , where your whole kind of perspective changes and its not so bright anymore ?

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