#5 - das Feuer, die Stimmen, die Qualen

M, 1931

Some poets say that writing’s a compulsion –

like somehow, they’re afflicted with a curse;

they speak in terms of horror and revulsion

at something so benign as crafting verse.

“I need to quench demonic fire inside –

to quell demented voices, vent the rage,

and tear my psyche open naked wide –

eviscerate my torment on the page!

 

 

Suffice to say I differ from this norm –

my muse is cut from calmer cloth, it seems.

A privilege is poesy, not a duty –

the fire’s a spark that keeps me toasty warm;

the voices, long-dead poets sharing dreams;

the torment, only heartache caused by beauty.

AWB

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