Moving On

Not homework just some thoughts.


 Forward then my friends into the foray,
Of agents and publishers and critics.
Are we ready to relinquish our nursery?
Of warm milk and tender critique,
For harsh put down and crushing comment.

I fear we may not be.
I am worried for you and for myself.
I want to protect our  innocence
In glass jars labelled ' Preserve'.
With blue gingham covers.
On cool marble shelves.

A writer has no choice.
It is a compulsion that consumes and envelops.
We will write till our pen runs out,
We will laugh till there is nothing left to laugh at.
We will squeeze ourselves into unfamiliar situations.
And we will survive.

The elements  that brought us together
Will split and send us shooting off  in different directions.
We can never go back to what we were before.
We will slither and slide with the current
And emerge dripping with sweat and screwed up paper
On the other side.

Bon Voyage. xx