Good Old Professor Ritchie

Well Professor Ritchie encouraged me to practice being my own worst critic, meaning i should edit and proof myself in my writing... Well i was looking at a narrative poem i had written last year and wanted to work on it. so here it is...


It was a beauty that almost hurt
Sharp
Lovely
Drawing
The sky was so clear and the wind so faint. It just touched my face and left my hands just a little bit cold. Not cold enough to drive me in... but cold enough to lull me in until I froze, not realizing how cold it really was… a gentle seduction of the breeze, faint with singing voices of outside. The crickets sang, low, deep. With the occasionally shrill sound… it rolled the song, you could hear it rolling and welling inside the cricket until it finally came out.
Yes, I felt the cold a little more. almost enough to drive me inside but I can’t. the sky, the evening, the beauty is too much to leave.
Occasionally I would hear the sounds of cars passing by, buses passing by, heading to some awefully important place
I didn’t want to go to that awefully important place. I was content just to sit here and write under the light of my porch.
It was enough to want to play around with words roll them in my mind and find out if they could come out and be something great. Something that caught the eye inside the mind the ear that lingers with the thoughts as you read a word across a page.
I wanted to see if I could grip someone
Actually grip myself
I feel the most alive when i write, when I think and dream and play around with words… sometimes I don’t feel outside of my words. Sometimes I am numb.
Sometimes I deliberately make myself numb and write of the emotions that are shouting across my mind
Like this one
I can’t have him
That is one emotion that has stayed inside my heart that I can not realize onto paper. I have tried in my journal to no avail… until now
He is not mine
And I hate that knowledge and that very fact. As if any one person could belong to someone else but inside I hoped that maybe my dream could belong to me.
I think that is why it hurts
My dream does not belong to me
I who dreamt it and played around with it in my heart and in my mind…
But there I have taken the emotions away I have killed my heart by making it far from me
It’s safer that way
Than to feel the hurt than to feel the burn that to experience and have what is only a shadow of what you want and you must be content with it.
But I am not content
And God knows that. He hears that. I scream it to him daily. I am not content with the shadow but I trust you with my heart… and I can not stop wanting what is not mine
To want
To have to desire
All of a sudden the outside has gotten colder. My fingers are colder, my toes are colder and I want to go inside where it is safe and warm.
But the beauty will not let me
I only intended to write of the night not of him
But the beauty draws me near
Beautiful
Drawing
Just enough cold to remind you that you are alive
And that death might come if you stay outside too long
But the beauty keeps me here
Sharp
Lovely
Drawing