SF (June 17 1942 / Troy New York)

What If I Do Not Have To Do Anything Anymore?

What if I do not have anything to do anymore?
What if I am finished?

I have written what I could write
I have gotten to where I can get
Not very far
But it was what I am capable of -

What if I am finished
And all I have to do is rest
And write small poems
Bad or good as they are
And not even these
For the rest of my life?

What if I can say to myself
I need not try anymore
Because I can do no more
And I am finished?

What if I am done
And can take relief from this
While still longing to do more
And dissatisfied with where I have not gotten?

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Comments (1)

It's a question one can only answer themselves. I write as it pleasure for me and relieves stress and tension. But I have no due date a publisher has set. To force the words. I think is quite absurd. But then again it is not my bread and butter. A lively hood slipping from ones own finger tips. Keys are pressed and still all their is more emptiness. A dark abyss does exist in the monetary gains of a passion. A blockage of a drain that wants to keep emptying. A plunger that has no force left at all. The rubber has worn right off the handle. And each time you try to use it just collapses with huge splash. A shock to the possibility to limits reached. The question isn't can you do it once more. But what was your reason for doing it in the first place? Does it still exist in the present pretense? For a purpose without reason isn't really a purpose at all. A guidance to ones gentle fall. With skinned knees maybe you can get back up. And ride that horse once more.