The Regret of Writing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The regret of writing, of trying ad murdering poetry.

Submitted: November 06, 2010

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Submitted: November 06, 2010

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The Regret of Writing
Poetry, an art used with words as paintings.
Metaphors and similes express the paint.
But me? I'm no good at it now.
It's been too long since I bothered to write my mind down.
So I have no literature skills, and this I do regret.
If I could turn back time, I would be an artist.
Express my feelings, my emotions with writing.
What a lovely life I would lead---
Ah! Yes. Writing.

I gave up the copper similes like a penny.
Gave up the wealthiest metaphors for a nickel.
In the end, I ended up poor in language
Poor in mind, poor in sight. Poor in art.
I see the rich flavours of literary devices and shake my head:
"I'm no poet! I'd be better of in a coffin. Just Dead."

This may not be my largest regret, but it had the most impact.
The lines I scribble down are horrible.
There is an error in this syntax.
Can you see it? I know you can't feel it.
I hate myself, do you know why?
Is it because I suck at poetry?
Because I am guilty of murdering this art.
Blood is left on face; me and literature must part.

In the end...I still regret and want to turn back time,
but I can't, and now you know why.


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