Writers Odyssey

I sit here staring at a blank page

who do I think I am, writing 

these bits and pieces of life

that have no real meaning.

Every sentence an agony

as I dig deep within the mine

seeking those few nuggets

of the journey I’ve been on.

It’s walking across hot coals

of broken dreams, an odyssey

where the Sirens call haunts

and the temptation of Circe awaits.

Troy is ever in my mind

the broken walls, the burned city

of relationships and loves lost

the scattered wastes littering

the path that I have taken.

It’s not the destination, they say

but damn, the journey is hard

it has to end I think, in the words

that I try to write as the cursor blinks

my own little Cyclops, taunting.

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