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I am convinced, that even the most extroverted writers among us have felt the allure or pull of our solitary craft. Often, I cannot fully access the depths of inspiration unless I am completely alone in my own self-created paradise. I am interested to hear how being alone affects you. Write a poem or essay describing the sensation of solitude when it's just you and your pen. I will write one myself!
Ended September 12, 2016 • 2 Entries • Created by tatteredthread
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Challenge
I am convinced, that even the most extroverted writers among us have felt the allure or pull of our solitary craft. Often, I cannot fully access the depths of inspiration unless I am completely alone in my own self-created paradise. I am interested to hear how being alone affects you. Write a poem or essay describing the sensation of solitude when it's just you and your pen. I will write one myself!
Cover image for post Shhh! I'm Writing, by sandflea68
Profile avatar image for sandflea68
sandflea68

Shhh! I’m Writing

Sensations of simple solitude

Sanctuary for sharp scrutiny

Scrawls shaping script silently

Soul spirits shimmer

Subconscious sparkles

Sketches and scribbles

Sentiment sprawls

Silent secrets sulk

Soundless suspense

Sunbeam soliloquy

Swallowed scents

Smudged symphony

Solitary scenes of serenity.

Challenge
I am convinced, that even the most extroverted writers among us have felt the allure or pull of our solitary craft. Often, I cannot fully access the depths of inspiration unless I am completely alone in my own self-created paradise. I am interested to hear how being alone affects you. Write a poem or essay describing the sensation of solitude when it's just you and your pen. I will write one myself!
Cover image for post ~Melismatic~, by tatteredthread
Profile avatar image for tatteredthread
tatteredthread

~Melismatic~

When I’m alone

I feel the purple hazy stream

Of conscious thoughts and idle day dream

The music to my sleeping ear

A chorus I forget to hear

That stirs me up

And makes me yearn

And squirm and reach

And beg to feel

The rhythmic truth

I know when still

Must clear the haze

And then I’ll know

The purple mountains are past the snow

I long to decipher

I long to know

The message is from long ago

Will the doors of inspiration

Open and let me see

Or am I too late

Lost in the noise

Of all the voices who aren’t me

I tip toe slow

And prostrate fall

I feign asleep

I see trees tall

They whisper

So much music hums

I cannot think for all the drums

Too much

Too much

I cry and wail

Feet collapse

So blistered

So frail

All the climbing

Has rendered

Red puffs

I fight the pain

And reel in the roughs

The white noise

Of my own blank page

I now begin to see

A miracle it nearly seems

To hear now

Only me

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