5.26.2023 - Elected

5.26.2023
Elected

I try to write a happy poem,
And watch stranger things swirl on the page
All my images render darkly.
All my efforts end in sorrow.
All my goodwill burns as it falls,
To the harsh rocks of metaphor below.
I’m not a dour person,
I’m as likely to grin as frown.
Yet all my words and sentences,
Only shine at midnight.
In the ebon darkness,
Or the absence of cheer,
My muse will dance,
And my words will glow.
So when I am asked again,
Why I don’t write upbeat,
Or shining inspiration,
Or hope and promises.
I will ask them,
Why did Christie dwell in mystery?
Why does King walk the halls of horror?
Why does Martin keep company with dragons?
Why does suspense stalk Koontz?
Sometimes you don't choose the writing,
The stories choose you.