I am not.

By C. J. Black.

I am not a writer
Neither am I a poet
A scribbler of words
Is what I am
Jotting down thoughts
Mostly insignificant
Which must be allowed
Freedom to float
Out into the mists of time
Never knowing what fate awaits
They have no feelings
The scribbler feels their pain
Rejection hurts
That pain lingers
Until the next thought is released
Waiting with baited breath
Wondering silently
Will the seed flourish?
Or fall on stony ground
Be trampled underfoot
Or in a hundred years hence
Will someone say?
Who was that scribbler?
Recognition
Don’t we all
Feel its need
The human being
Will surely flourish
By a simple act
A clap on the back
A simple act
Which in turn makes you feel good
That is all that is required
I am not a writer
Neither am I a poet
A scribbler of words
Is what I am.
C. J. Black©β
Monday, 09 June 2014
http://www.chrisblack2012.wordpress.com

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