For too long, for far too long

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic

How many of us have put ourselves away on a shelf, gathering dust for far too long?...this is the essence of this lyrical poem

Submitted: November 24, 2017

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Submitted: November 24, 2017



For too long, for far too long I’ve kept myself in hiding All my works of art I’ve been chiding The worst critic is I, self-criticizing While the clock is losing seconds The flood of time, like from a weapon wound, it’s gushing Yet you’ll see that I’m not rushing Since like an inert mountain mass I’m not budging, I’m not moving on

For too long, for far too long I have been avoiding Human contact I should be enjoying While hearing others sing their songs Or sharing the breathing air of the Muse And listening to her creative heart beating on

For too long, for far too long I have been hiding behind excuses Remaining a long forgotten self-reclusive With others saying, “Where the hell has he gone?” “I’m still here”, I answer “But as for my music you won’t be hearing As it is, I’m not reappearing to play my songs”. For the record that unheard music stays within my room Gathering dust in corners of my gloom In a space that sorely needs a broom.

Though I never will sing like Frank Sinatra Or the great opera star, Caruso Nor will my writings match those of my idol The short-lived Edgar Allen Poe And as for art, I will never rank with Michelangelo Still, my renderings could possibly be good enough And worthy enough for an artwork gallery show

Still, for too long, for far too long All my creative works are sealed up within my room As if in an ancient Egyptian mummy’s tomb Buried beneath the sands within the ruins of building wrecks And thus, future archeologists may find my renditions When on their expedition, and perhaps find one piece of treasure Among the many relics and remnants of mostly dreck Many, many years, far too long after I have been long gone

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