WOW! This marks my 400th post to the sight, another great milestone for me in terms of creating. I really liked marking my 100th and 300th posts with poems (and regret not doing the same for 200!) so I thought to continue that trend with another numerically titled poem. My poem 100 was very much unique in that it wasn't reflective on the website at all, though 300 turned into kind of an homage to all the stories I have posted about and the different topics of the blog. 400 here is more or less a reflection of where I was about a month ago, really reflective on what I was doing and why I continue to post for what in essence is an audience of maybe 3 people.
Sometimes I forget that the reason you do something you love isn't for others peoples enjoyment, but for your own. In that sense the point of my blog is to stay true to me and what I want to do. Even on my worse day I like to write and in that sense it has to be my own reward to create, even when I doubt myself or feel like I am no good.
I think this poem is even a bit more poignant for me when I realized how many aborted attempts at writing this poem I have taken in the last 5 or 6 days. Literally attempt after attempt that met with little or no success, until breaking through today. Maybe you will like the poem, or maybe you won't, either way that is okay, because this poem really was just for me.
I look to the past to see what I've done.
And gaze towards a future I haven't begun.
I could write a small story of love and of loss.
Or of the strange tales my life has come across.
Sometimes their said in poetry and rhyme,
Others are a missive best told over time.
Better days may still lie ahead,
Though I'll not forget the path I've led.
A life I've lived, both full and true,
Of happy days and of times turned blue.
The choices I've made, both the wrong and the right.
Sometimes chose well, others not in hindsight.
What will I do in the days to come,
What kind of person am I in sum?
Maybe a poet, or a writer or hack,
Cashing on a talent I probably lack.
Has this venture been just for pleasure?
Or did someone find these words worth measure.
400 down and still I write on.
Composing for readers that may have withdrawn.
Sometimes I'm ready to no longer write,
And lay down my pen and keyboard to the fight.
For what is the point of rendering a tale,
If in finding an audience I have come to fail.
But when my will has turned its darkest,
And my confidence is at its starkest.
I reflect on the reason I started this all,
And that to succeed you must sometimes fall.
The point of my work and the tales I've sown,
Is that writings the only place I feel at home.
End of Line.