Returning to The Empress Journals
My little empire, where I once
Poured copious ink in hot tears
Wrote words imagining them poetic (they were not)
Keatsian love letters unanswered (best ones are)
Stupid self important grandiose musings
A life grappling emotions (quicksilver fiends)
Vacuous vain ego supreme, fed fulsome on empty praise
Vampyric novella (incomplete, abandoned)
Some stories of the poison tree (fruit travels not far from root)
Some in different languages, none of them pleasing
None of it in sonnet form, not one in pentametre iambic
Nothing classical, nowt precious, owt rare, null decorum
Life like verse mine, entirely spent drunk on whimsy
Chasing rage, incandescent magnificent, living unquietly
A longitudinal view: Disappointing
A clinical view: more troubling (leave it be)
It reminded me last night
IT – the little voice, HIM for want of better words
Everything soft (internal) is always male (for me)
Such is the formative mistrust (of the other)
It saw me and said
Spend yourself once more little fool
Write perhaps, try, falter, fail, but try writing
Here again with cobbled together words
With broken pen and hollows strung
Dares the avid ego form
One single decent word, one tiny echo
For there are many many words
Just not a single one that brings solace
No not quite iambic
Not a free verse travesty
Not an ode, nothingness in its uneven folds
I sit to write and here the silence flows
© Samragi Madden, The Empress Journals, 17th February 2023
The Empress Journals 