Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Random Thoughts and Story Birth

I find it somewhat funny, when you consider poetry, that the form it takes can both guide how it flows or constrict it. Below is all I could come up with before the idea looked at how I was doing and told me to push off:

 
 

Life expands, new paths unfold

Which course should I take? Must I be bold?

 
 

Choices abound, they vi for attention

….

 
 

There is no overt value in producing a poem that rhymes. Certainly, the rhythm it brings is helpful, but requiring a rhythm shouldn't shape a poem, and that's what was going on above. Sometimes I feel like writing a poem without rhymes is just cheating.

 
 

Like each breath I take, the pressure rises and falls.

My life rushes onward, though its pace never changes

Yet each new occurrence changes a plan

Which, I must confess, was hardly for certain

 
 

The warmth and security a decision will bring

Lasts only until a new choice appears.

It is these choices which tear at my mind

And yet they are comforting, forging a path

 
 

So I may be uneasy with challenges I face

Yet without them, I would float aimlessly

So I welcome my choices, and look ahead

Each question answered brings a new one to bear

 
 

Each line tried so hard in my mind to rhyme with the one preceding it, it was like beating back an animal. Rereading that creation, I am unsure whether it was right to fight the desire to rhyme. Maybe a little moderation is key in this area.

 
 

What would it be like if our dreams could lead us to a world between an absolute dream and the reality we leave behind when we fall into slumber? A world that is both small and infinite, existing on the edge of reality and a world of conscious and unconscious imagination, every little thing a person on Earth has ever dreamed of. A place of dreams manifest, where the proximity of reality has pulled such dreams out of their fleeting form and into something more permanent. This place would almost be a gate between the dream world and that of reality, caught in a tug of war as each grows and weakens, affecting the other as innumerable factors shift subtly.

I think this is a place that a man named Richard Ancile will visit, should I have my way and he lets me tell his tale.

We shall see.

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