I have arrived at a truth about myself; namely, I am not able to write “happy” poetry; at least not very well.
On some level, I find that fact a bit disturbing.
But how can I when words like ‘morose’ and ‘melancholy’ are adjectives that I relate to on a very personal level?
I have been through personal tragedy,(although frankly, who hasn’t) and as a result, I conspire to dip into the darkness and let it saturate my words.
I live there now, in that cesspool of swirling turgid blackness, full of sinister shadows.
It wasn’t always that way….
However, do not fear.
I also have a sprightly side, but really, it is much more soothing and exhilarating to convey the experience I have of my feelings entrenched in regret, sorrow and loss.
… maybe I just relate more accurately to the multitude of varied ways a soul can suffer.
And I must confess, that it is too easy and cliche to describe love and life in glowing terms.
Life isn’t that way most times.
It’s dirty and messy and raw.
I think that is the most apt term for life; raw.
It may appear that each moment is realized and complete, but in actuality, it is merely an unfettered glimpse into a wrinkle of what we call “humanity”and “living”.