Epics & Epiphanies

 

I do not hide behind my poems

I am out under the open sky

hand over hand

looking for chinks in the language,

lines on an unlined page

to slip my fingertips into,

to grab hold of and pull myself up. - 

I have no reliable safety net

I have no pickax

but this pen, these hands, 

these words

With them I chip away at the rough surface

of what I’m supposed to write

to arrive at what I must write,

what will sustain me;

to arrive at the summit

of my own private mountain,

the pinnacle of my own private epic.

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