I Celebrate Myself…

Free Will


She placed her hands upon her lips
As if to hold back the real sentiments

Her eyes, her Judas
Gave away all that she feared
She loved him and she was vulnerable

He, afraid in his own right
Torn between man and boy
Simply stared, waiting
For some utterance of desire

Both perplexed by raw emotion
Created a shift
That dispelled the purity of their love

Fear grabbed a hold of them
And so they cowered into their corners
She in her books and sad love songs
He into the arms of another

The ease of compromise
Quickly embraced

A mold previously set
Copyright © 2008 RNLH


Author: ngalanjala

I Have Learned So much from God That I can no longer Call Myself A Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim, A Buddhist, a Jew. The Truth has shared so much of Itself With me That I can no longer call myself A man, a woman, an angel, Or even pure Soul. Love has Befriended Hafiz so completely It has turned to ash And freed Me Of every concept and image My mind has ever known. ~ Hafiz ~

2 thoughts on “Free Will

  1. You haven’t posted in awhile. What’s up with that?

  2. I think your poetry and fiction show promise like a young, strong sapling standing proudly in morning sun. The thing that interests me most about your writing, like you the person, is your outlook. It is perennially hopeful and courageously vulnerable. Your words are always flavored with an instinct to recognize the best in others. Concurrently, there runs through your work a theme of self-consciousness as though you are struggling to see the best in yourself. That lack of conceit is refreshing.

    In regards to your technique, let me offer that I think the best writing happens when we find new ways to express ideas. If we can put words together to capture a specific moment or to spark real feeling in the reader, then we have succeeded. The challenge of creative writing is to reinterpret the world in a new, fresh way.

    I particularly like the use of imagery (creating mind pictures, if you will) and specificity of language (instead of writing “she got into the car,” I try something like “she got into the dusty, black Volvo that smelled of fried fish and dirty sneakers.”

    With poetry, in particular, each word must be vital; strip away all that is unnecessary. Each word must strike the reader anew, be it either a slap or a kiss.

    Above all, I think you have already found the two most important paths to good literary craft: voracious reading and disciplined, practiced writing.

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