billfriday.com

fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Nine Years

9

The last thing I wanted to do

was write the same book,

all over again,

only just a little bit better. 

In the nine years since I,

unintentionally,

began my first book,

one page here,

another page there,

I’d hoped I would change,

maybe,

God always willing,

for the better.

 

Change!

 

Nine years’ worth of words,

compressed into just over a hundred pages. 

Some I didn’t even want to read again,

except for the insistence of an editor

who would scowl if I said no. 

 

Change!

 

Nine years’ worth of shredded hearts,

and tears that were not cried. 

Of alcohol related indecision,

and bad decisions made in haste. 

 

Change,

dammit!

 

Nine years’ worth of growing up

at an age when most just grow old. 

And now,

going on my tenth year since the beginning,

with a second book just months away

from crawling its way down

the publishing birth canal,

I am at a place

where all I see in my words

is the same words,

arranged differently. 

 

Change,

dammit,

change!

 

Nine years’ worth of hope,

recycled,

reprinted,

regurgitated upon page after page,

still looking like they always did. 

They are all I know, 

And they are mine.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

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2 thoughts on “Nine Years

  1. footloosedon on said:

    Another brilliant pithy commentary on the pain of trying to birth something new with the same old words. You’re two books ahead of me me Bill: that’s worth celebrating.

    Kind regards as always,

    Don

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Love this! Nuff’ said.

    Liked by 1 person

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