Poem I wrote. 8-)

I wish i knew how to do the quote thingy all proper like!!   anyways this is what i wanted to do! Because i felt it so deserved it.

Quote/ Stretch Papa.

Hello all. I am rather new to Chordie and this will be my first post. I did not see a "poem" section so I chose to post it here. This is an old thing I wrote in my youth. (In my ripe old age of 31) Hope you like it. Comments welcomed. 8-)

Driving at dusk.Sunbeams barely making their way through the tree tops.
Clouds surrounded by sheets of light, highlighted by Gods own hand.

My mind is blank as the page I'm staring at. But the instant pen touches page.
Blue lines become ablaze. New lines are getting heavy weighted with words missing just moments ago.

Soon the lines cannot contain all the weight of words. Straining under intense pressure the lines become weak.
Bending and shaking, clinging onto the edges of the paper. Blue lines struggle to keep thought together.

Intense battle erupts in clouds of smoke, and ink spills from worn soldiers holding onto former glory!
This is why you were made! To hold.

Thought finds creativity and hand in hand, back to back, they fight!
As if it was the last stand.

They fight! Slashing, holding, straining, laughing, screaming, crying, hearts wrenched, widows made....words made silent.
Incomplete thought scattered abroad. Lines still hold! Strong words said. Lines still hold!

White paper clouded with ink. Lines still hold! Side of hand shows battle scars, smeared and stained from heat of struggle.
Lines still stand!

The war has spilled over from 2nd dimension to the 3rd.

Affecting the writer.

Moving him to action on behalf of creative thought.
The struggle, now over, has left him perplexed!

As he washes his hands ink fills the sink down to it's final destination.

Swirling into oblivion goes my mind and thought. The last and final thought of battle is the first thought of peace!!
Leaning over the sink, spent. I ask, How has he stood up to an onslaught of formidable foes, yet come out victorious?

Because his only job was to stand. 

{End of }

Forgive this Old Doll "Stretch Pappa" for interfering with your post. { your youth of 31 } ?  Im gonna change my name to
Methuselah's Doll.
This is a fantastic piece of writing. Im old enough to remember ink and wee white school inkwells on our desks. Some of us got
the job of washing school inwells  out end of terms. I clearly remember the last of the ink mixing and washing down the sink.
How my wee hands  kept there tint of blue forsome time.

What a great image you portrayed here.  The absolute frustration of writers at times, writers frustration and writers  block.
Blue ink like the enemy! The power of words.
i felt frantic myself as i clung on to the words / pages/ and ink. I hope every writer here on chordie reads this piece. Also, become's as absorbed into it as i was. The feeling  i had was like reading  the first chapter of a  great book.

Great, Great, piece.

Welcome to Chordie.

Old Doll.

the pen is mightier than the sword.

Nice Work Stretch Papa
Do you write with a melody in mind?
Would like to read more if you have them.

Thanks
KAP54

Hi,

As Helena (an awsome poet herself) has alrerady said this is a very deep piece and, as James McCormic suggested for someone else's poem, it could probably work well spoken over background music that had the emotional feel of the piece.

Roger