So…
why do I write?
why struggle, mindfully
to search for that perfect word
that someone will breeze by as
a singular note in a symphony
fringe or solitary soldier of a sentence
why struggle?
to feed the ego?
to raise myself from the muck
the brume of emotionality?
why struggle?
what gain is there
but black on white to be
read by few, if at all
why struggle?
to rip from the depths
a indiscernible fragment of the pang
lying bundled with the magnum of anger
or inconsolable grief, or childhood taunts
submerged, forgotten bruises upon the soul
bringing calm, a quiet, however momentarily
to the private, vexing war
still, why struggle?
for money, a means to an end?
gave that up so long ago
so thus
why struggle?

© 2012 by DC Lessoway