For The Sunday Whirl Poetry Prompt: Wordle #100
Instruments of Survival II
I have no ambitions and no desires.
Being a poet is not my ambition.
It’s just my way of being alone.
There was a time when friends
called me a master wordsmith,
shared my train of thought
with some amount of ease.
Lived on a different street,
marched to a different drummer,
while words were always humming
faintly in the background.
So much has changed, been
rearranged, places and faces
that stretched imagination,
creating wild sense of willing.
Certain daring to say those
things that had never been
said, take the risk to carve
whatever beckoned me. When
it beckoned me. Much older now,
perhaps not so bold, yet knowing
the die has been cast, and words
have ever been, will always be
chosen instruments of survival.
Elizabeth Crawford 3/17/13
Notes: Have been bucking a certain level of depression. This word list threw me because it offered so many ideas and avenues, that I got a bit overwhelmed by it all. Eventually it reminded me of a poem I had written over twenty years ago, and given the same title. Then happened to find an old memory stick with nothing but poetry on it. When I found the Pessao quote, I figured I knew where the words wanted to go. Happy 100th Brenda.