Cross Roads at Nano (the half-way NaNoWriMo Challenge mark)
"Come to me" she whispered
sweet apple cheeked muse
write with abandon, free
heart, mind and soul through
the fingers of those hands
Come to me she whispered
a smiled and a scent of
cinammon and cream
Sit and pour forth it
will be like a dream
the bar is set low
you can step right across
think not what you write
just word count, there will be no loss
And following there with fingers
on fire, the numbers poured into
people a town, plot and more
Nano, never did tell you what
you knew from the start that
a writer can't write and not care
what they're writing about
And so now you care, and you
keep fingers flying and wish
you could sit in her warm
kitchen, see her kind crinkled
eyes, smell the cinammon and
cream and continue that
Great-American-Novel-falling-from
the-sky-in-a-month-dream
As you sit at the cross-roads
between moving ahead and the
spine chilling potential of
tomorrow's possible dread
Now at the cross-roads between
gaily marching along with fingers
a flying and your heart filled with
song
And the chilling, the thrilling,
possibility of all that terrifyingly
could be
if Nano turns critic, the cream
soured and mold fuzzed in cinammon
and her body fetid as Medussa serpents
slither in the soft silver curls with whom
all did begin
Grandma Nano
or Decomposing Nano
one giving life
the other a cold-blooded kill
At the cross-roads both possible
all a matter of will
Doing Nano a couple of years ago gave me verbal diarrhoea, so I gave up. Your poem expresses the frustrations brilliantly. Good luck with the second half (if you don't stop!)
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