Saturday, April 22, 2017

Hey folks, I know I promised you I was going to post more poems, but today someone sent me this video, and I feel that I should share it with you as I'm sure you might want to share it with your close friends and loved ones.  Take care...............gil

https://www.facebook.com/viralthread/videos/731127433726609/

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Between Two Worlds


The world  that a normal person, finds him or herself living from day to day, and that of a writer, who allows their creative side to pull them into the shadowed spaces of his or her mind. The side that is filled with mysteries, and drama that unfolds in millisecond bursts.

Artist captures visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas.

Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale. He withdraws from the chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these sporadic visions.

In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works and reworks the tale, then he re-enters this chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until his imagination has run dry.

Exhausted, he now realizes it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But he questions himself, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?  He re-reads it time and time again. 
Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will the readers clinch their fist in anger, will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?

So, what is left when his work is done?  Does he throw it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates?  He is not a salesman.  He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber where he finds comfort, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his soul. 

He’s now hearing voices, and whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, delirium, and reality. Till one day the chamber closes the escape hatch behind him.

No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this darkened chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. 

So be alert my fellow writers, do not let the voices draw you into the abis for no one will understand your babbling script thereafter. 
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