The Poet’s Dilemma

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The Poet’s Dilemma

Days and nights spent crafting words to perfection
fueled by cheap whiskey and non-filtered cigarettes
cut off from the very world he writes about.

His prose clever and filled with profound images
the darling of society
everyone wanted his company
designers gave him the finest garments
he lived in a stone mansion with a beautiful wife;
but on the inside…

The poet’s soul is tinted with the blackest black
he has no words left
his muse left him with no note
empty with no more to give.

He sits in his library at his big ornate desk
the glow of the candles outlining his frown
considering the writer’s block that has silenced him
feeling lost.

He inhales, his cigarette glowing red in the dark
he opens his desk drawer to get more whiskey
his handgun next to the bottle.

He pours himself a drink
as he has done so many times before
it burns as it travels down his throat
the loss of words was killing him
destroying him!

He put the handgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Shared with Poets United.

12 thoughts on “The Poet’s Dilemma”

    1. Thank you, Frank! I do enjoy my animations and do a few of them every week which I share on Google+ and other social networks. I often pair them with my writings as you probably noticed on CP. You are very observant, I timed the frames to do that (the breath) on purpose. I do all kinds of animations.

      I like your poetry and photos, Frank. I have very bad knees which allow me to bike just fine but since my biking, my knees are so strong that I can walk a decent 4 miles. I used to walk with a cane but no more! Of course, I use ice and swell, etc. but it’s worth it. Biking is a gift.

      I used to walk in the woods constantly and take photos. In northern Indiana (where I’m from) and Madison, Wisconsin I walked in some of the most wonderful woods. Michigan too. Where do you walk?

      It’s been raining cats and dogs here so I’m going to be walking today. I love on a long block so walking around it twice is roughly a mile. I’m waiting patiently for the sun to come back.

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  5. Whoa! The story reeled me in. A sad ending….if he had kept the pen moving, the words would have returned. They always do. And if they dont – there is always a beautiful sunrise next morning. So well told, Bekkie.

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    1. There is something enjoyable about writing a dark poem or sad ending at times. I think it’s because I can identify with it on a personal level. Not that I’m suicidal! Lol!

      I hope your move went well and you’re settled in. Big hug!

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