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::passing time::

by Bethany Lee

i am a scribe,
drowning in oceans of ink.
without a word to say.

i am a painter with a hundred
empty canvases,
lacking a porcelain body,
spread on blankets, uncovered;
to model the shadows
of fertile hills.

a singer without harmony.
a lover with no-one to love.

and still,
all this feeling,

tenderly trapped,
lacking sufficient expression.

but it is Here.
in my bloodstream.
an astonished audience,
looking on with marvel at the
passing thought-parade.

the truth is,
there are no words FULL
enough -
Lovely enough -
Diluted enough -
for
simple comprehension.

09/03/2003

Posted on 09/13/2003
Copyright © 2024 Bethany Lee

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Bouillet on 09/25/03 at 07:05 PM

Exquisite verse that comes closer to describing the indescrible than any I have read. I love the way you put your emotions in the blood... it makes them more tangible and much more vital!

Posted by Richard Paez on 11/01/03 at 03:45 PM

Oh I know this feeling, much too well. This is the all-night-at-the-keyboard-empty, all-day-in-the-car-screaming to someone else's words, someone else's music. You capture the feeling very well, and I like how you apply it to many different Muses- many times when I can't write, one of my biggest cognitions is the fixation on the fact that I can't paint but I would love to. I agree wholeheartedly with Max: that you equate your gana, your need to emote, with the blood, making it one of the primal humors, is an excellent image and metaphor. The last verse- it's like contractions before birth, in a pregnancy that will never end. Great writing, Vera. Thank you for sharing! {m}

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