Is this my peak?
Are there no more skills open to me?
Do no more sides of Everest remain?
Is this my premature apotheosis?
A dead writer liable to be forgotten?

I am already savagely windswept,
Cruelly bruised and scathed,
Sweat has coloured my skin and hair,
Beaten down by the world,
Beaten down by my own closed fist,

I know not how to improve,
How to sharpen my pen,
I don’t know how to make my mark,
How to grant myself a modicum of immortality,
How to break my barbed limits,

How to be competent.

Comments
  1. Study the masters. It is what I do 🙂

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