I’ve been sneaky as of late,
Writing the words that never seem to adorn this white light quite right
In places innocuous and conspicuous
So that perhaps someone will be peeling away the moments of their life,
And will see on the chalkboard
Someone cared enough to write them a love poem.

I’m a rebel and a terrorist and I now find this medium inadequate.


As my little... I don't want to call it a poem, but... thing said, I've ceased to be able to write anything worth a damn on a computer. At first I despaired, thinking that I was losing my poetic capabilities. A year with scantily any work to speak of did not help such fears. I feared as I wrote more and more for academia (I'm in college now) that my poetic faculties were atrophying. This only added to stew of uncertainties and insecurities I'd let simmer for a while, and I panicked a good deal. But now I've this strange clarity, as I've come to find strangely... I love writing on chalkboards and dry-erase boards. Last night I was playing D&D with my group in the chem lounge in my school's science building, and I left a poem up on the chalkboard. It was a decent poem, too. So, I'm kinda giddy right now as that silly old truth that change is not death but rebirth is driven into my skull by another strange event. I wrote it down, maybe I'll post it on devart here. It's a might too religious for my tastes (if I do post it, you will be able to tell I have been reading a lot of the Rig Veda and Upanisads), but what can you do? And the reason I don't consider what is above to be a poem is because it's too cliche for my tastes.

Anyhow.

How has everyone been doing?

Maybe I'll post some stuff up today.

Peace.