Monday, October 25, 2004

Because of the promise of the morning

“My advice to you is run. Run. Do you want to wake up every morning, with all the promise that morning conveys, and come here?”

I’m very self-conscious. It’s not that I think I’m less than others; I’m just very aware of my own imperfections. That’s why when I read particular writers I analyze my words versus theirs. My storytelling next to theirs. I think of how I constructed a work and of how another might have done it, or I look at the other work and think of how I would have done it.

My doubts humble me. Every time my pen kisses the page and the product isn’t the very best poem ever written by a man, I feel doubt. I feel doubt that I will write a line that will change someone’s life. I doubt that someone will fall in love with my poetry. I doubt my books, my verse, my tongue and my pen. I doubt everything except the beauty of the poem, because there is always truth in my verse, and the truth, if nothing else, is beautiful.