What am I Doing Here?
I lay beside a tablet of paper.
White as a model’s teeth,
Its virgin surface is hard to see.
Death made this instrument of journaling.
So death is making me into something greater.
Thank you tree,
Or, more appropriately,
The Creator of the tree.
I am moaning words in marker
Onto the aqua lined surface.
Where is the relationship?
Where is the feedback?
Will this page hug me after a long grueling day?
Will this notebook ask me why I am so grim?
We are truly a social creature.
Author Note: i was in one of my many doubting brooding moods wondering what the benefit to writing poetry was. it is only an outlet to catch my emotions and thoughts unless i share it with others. then it can be an instrument in bring people together in conversation and contact if not friendship.
About the author
I live with my wife, an artist, in Indianapolis. Besides poetry, I like to take photographs, read books, travel overseas, and listen to news/political podcasts, college lectures and classic literature. You can read about my approach to poetry on my poetics page. To stay in touch, follow me on Twitter or connect on a variety of other social networks.
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