"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am…" –Maya Angelou
What are you doing?
What makes you think you know a thing?
As if you could tell the difference
Between real life and a dream.
What compels you forward?
You know how you’ll end up.
Your very soul’s a jester,
No matter how you dress it up.
Do you think that this will change things?
Oh, I assure you that it will:
You will drown in every failure…
And in every tear you spill.
***
Being nothing scares me
More than you ever could:
So it will be what it will be…
Now shut up, Wormwood.
You said before that some can’t be saved;
And I think that is true.
You’re so many evil things…
But you’re not the villain here, are you?
I thought that you were.
I thought all I had to do
To be the good guy, was just
To be better than you.
But it was all just a lie;
While all along, I knew the truth:
I felt it boiling underneath,
Even as I veiled my face in ruth.
You never had to be the good guy:
You just had to be better than me.
It turns out I’m the one who can’t be saved,
And you’re the one who gets the redemption story.
I walk across the beach
As I wonder if he thinks of me;
I gaze out across the sea,
While my mind is running fatefully.
I see it in the distance:
A bottle washed ashore.
Inside is a letter:
Who wrote it? Who for?
There’s something in it that I recognize:
Yes, I know his voice.
Even written as it is,
How can I have a choice?
I’ve replayed every minute
Over in my head
From that first and final meeting;
Every word he said.
And now I read his letter,
And the tears come to my eyes;
For I find that he is dead,
And it comes as no surprise.
I find myself in a seeking mood.
Though what I seek, it’s oft been proved
Lies not in books, or on screens —
Those are evanescent things —
But out the window, out the door
Down paths I never thought to walk once more;
Down paths I may never walk again:
To the door of a forgotten friend.
Were I to knock, what would be?
A cry of joy, and understanding?
Or would it be a false alliance
With thoughts upon my so-long silence?
Would they blame me? Would they hate?
Could I explain my wretched fate?
To be the one who can’t be saved?
To be alone for all my days?
Writer In Retrospect 