Something of Substance

I held the pen

a little longer

than I usually do, today.

Struggling with the little voice

that says,

“It’s okay.

You don’t have to write today.”

 

I savour the thought.

Roll it around in my mind

and see if it has something,

something  of substance.

Hollow promises

always come draped in succor.

Death, is a comforting hand.

 

The pen

might as well just be a snake, today.

If that’s the case,

I’ll pen this piece in venom,

because it’s not what I do

for any reason

other than being what I do.

Who I am.

 

The voice that says;

“Don’t write today.”

is the same voice that says;

“Rest”

when you must work,

“Take.”

when you must give,

“Sleep.”

when you must wake.

“Die.”

when you must keep fighting to live.

 

Fight to live

and living

is doing what you do,

being who you are

and setting yourself up

for the next day,

and the next day,

and the next day,

as we are fortunate enough

to get them.

 

The war in my head

every morning,

is a small price to pay

for the day.

I will rest

when the reaper

comes to harvest my soul.

Pick up the pen.

Pick up your life

and write something;

something of substance.

 

HG – 2018

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