Being a writer, struggling to find words for stories only to discover the real struggle is to find an audience, has its frustrations. In some ways, it winds up acting as a metaphor for all of life.
Here’s poem I wrote on the topic. It started as a vent. Where’s my audience? Where’s my success? As though I were owed these things. I’d like to think it became something a little more.
A Land Sun-Kissed
I can but write but cannot right
my life, long hurled, with sails unfurled,
on course unchanged while my heart ranged
toward new fields. And though I wield
tools to address my dreamed success,
here I remain, my work in vain
to steer the boat. Yet still I float,
a small mercy on these rough seas.
Can I still yearn or must I learn
to constrain hope and seek to cope?
Is it vain dream that makes it seem
the day darkened? For I harkened
to ragged hope as frayed old rope
on tired deck though not yet wrecked.
Is this my lot? It’s as I thought.
A weary band in search of land.
Is blue-gray sea all I’m to see?
I am shaken, long forsaken,
wishing to use my inborn muse
yet none will hear, none will, I fear.
I hear of more, a far-off shore
through ceaseless waves that daunt the brave.
I gird my mind and seek to find,
through fog and mist, a land sun-kissed.
If you happen to like it, I’ve got it in my Redbubble store on several types of wall art.