I thought of a line, and decided to write a poem around that line. This is often the process for me. In this particular case, it happened to be the last line of the poem. When writing the poem, I was not sure what it was about. It took a path of it's own, and I followed.

When I read the first copy, which was meant to be a working draft (what you see below), I realized what the poem was about.
It really took me by surprise, and made me think a great deal.
The line that started it all, the last line, was obviously referring to writer's block--

"perhaps i could do all this if my pen hadn't run dry"

--However, until I read the poem as a wholle, I had no idea that the whole poem was about writer's block.
As is obvious by its title, I thought I was writing about life's choices, and my indecision.
Read...

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CHOICES


restless days
sleepless nights
what is missing from my life?

the american dream
is not for all
two kids a dog and a wife?

am i missing a woman
to have hold and love
then why, when i had it, did i throw it away?

am i missing a future
a career to depend on
or have i lost the joy of living for today?

the small things in life
have always been what mattered
i still believe that, and that is what's wrong.

can i no longer see them?
or do i just no longer notice?
i can tell you i notice that they are all gone.

i have endless options
i just must decide
which road i should follow, which path to stroll down.

it's not quite so simple
though i'll admit it sounds easy
it is easy to fly, but so hard to leave the ground.



a life with no incentive a path with no direction
it is fun to sleep around, but wise to use protection



i could hang around the A-list
young models and pace setters
learn the ways of sadists
i will be called a go-getter

i could spend a grand a week
on women, parties and liquor
i'll ride the backs of the meek
to scale the ladder quicker

expensive cars, the finest clothes
i live the lavish life of a liar
a paycheck that comes after it goes
i will go bankrupt if i retire



and what about the american dream life?
two lovely children and a warm doting wife

a black lab in the yard and a garage wood shop
a classic sports car with a convertible top

three mortgages, two car loans and one paycheck bi-monthly
we take a vacation a year and no one goes hungry

i manage to keep my head above water
i don't kill the men that come for my daughter

by the time I am forty the student loans are paid
then the kids go to college, and the wife wants a maid

the ira matures at age sixty-three
the children get married and have grandkids for me

sixty five comes, it's time to retire
i get a gold pen to sign my will and expire

i leave to my children all i have left
i don't hate myself enough for such a slow death



Kerouac's a hero
life on the road
jumping freight trains
on endless tracks

write in my journal
sleep by that tree
life as a vagrant
i'll never come back

two weeks in decatur
washing dishes for food
a few bucks in my pocket
thumb a ride down route one

i end up a farm hand
sleeping on hay
rising at five thirty
till i decide to move on

i meet thousands of people
on my wander through life
never keeping too many
to close for too long

no roots ever planted
no house and no wife
no kids to restrain me
from being free on my own

as i get older
i ail just like you
but i have no doctor
and no money anyway

the arthritis kicks in
my teeth ache at night
the cough never stops
i'm too weak to bail hay

i die a young death
i've lived a full life
completely empty of love
i did whatever i pleased

freedom and loneliness
can't live without one
or live with the other
too often i've been on my knees

praying for life
praying for death
praying for the lord
to give me the strength

to end it now or continue on
either would have been fine
i am granted neither
and i suffer at length



perhaps i'll be an author and have all that i can
perhaps i'll be famous and admired by fans
perhaps i'll sell millions of copies each year
perhaps i'll write movies that open to cheers
perhaps i'll own houses and land everywhere
perhaps i'll jump freight trains and go with no cares
perhaps i'll be successful and never retire
perhaps i'll be happy and fulfill my desires
perhaps there is a woman who will understand me
perhaps she can show me what love truly can be
perhaps my life will offer all that i ask
perhaps i would not fear the comfort wont last
perhaps my life will be full and exciting till i die
perhaps i could do all this if my pen hadn't run dry

________________________________________________________




This brought many thoughts to my mind.


I haven't quite sorted out all the details of cause, effect and impact. I don't yet know if the chicken or the egg came
first. However, this poem turned out to be pretty significant step toward my self-realization.

Throughout my entire life, there has been very little, if anything, that has brought me more joy than writing.
It was an emotional outlet (many times the only one I had), but it was much more than that.
I find it extremely difficult to explain it so it can be fully appreciated by anyone other than myself, but it was the essence of who I was. Who I am. It, in many ways, has defined me as a person.

For quite some time now I have struggled with, off and on (mostly on), writer's block.

I find myself (yet again) at a crossroads in my life. Lately the road that is my life seems to resemble a spider web. I find myself in a do or die position. Whether my writer's block makes me feel this way, or this feeling is causing pressure that is resulting in my writer's block is the $64 question. I have always had the dream that I will someday make the transition from writer to author, however I have never actually worked toward that as a goal. My writing has mostly been for me, and to share with others. I feel that I have come to a point that I will soon need to make that transition. Why I never have before is something important to be looked at, but is not within the scope of this paper.

I am not sure why I feel pressured to make that move:

Possibly because I have backed myself into that vocational corner. I refer to myself as being in a corner because I have arrived at where I am from hard work, and hard work alone. I have no connections. I have no schooling. I have no degree. Hell, I don't even have a High School diploma. All my peers have a minimum of a Baccalaureate, and most have their Masters. I have attained the level of success that I have, through hard work and experience. If I left now to pursue other opportunities, I would not be taking a leave of absence, it would not be a sabbatical, I would be giving it up for good. As rapidly as this damned technology field changes, if I left, my experience would not count for much anymore. If I wanted to walk away for a few years to pursue my dream, I would not be welcome back. I honestly don't think I would want to come back even if they would have me. I just don't have the strength, drive or desire to start over again (I never really wanted to be here in the first place).

Perhaps it is because I am nearing thirty very quickly. Thirty is supposed to be some milestone year, although I do not consciously feel that, maybe it's there - I don't know. Maybe I am just tired of keeping it as a dream while focusing my efforts on succeeding in a reality that I really have no desire to even be a part of. Perhaps I feel like if I have come to a point that my life will need a great deal more focus on it directly rather than secondary pursuits, and if writing does not become a full-time job now, it never will.

The fact remains, I feel the push of now or never for this. This causes an interesting inner-dynamic. Fear of failure is very common, I suppose, and even more so in under-achievers. I always succeed in whatever I attempt, and usually excel, but truth be told, I never seem to aim too high. I have worked towards some goals, and accomplished what I set out to do. However, I have never focused all my efforts so intently on anything that would not be attainable without my fullest attention and hardest work. That scares the hell out of me. Maybe I can blame this on my short attention span, but I think that in all likelihood it would be more the inverse of that. If I have a short attention span, and difficulty with focus, that is a ready excuse to not put all my eggs in one basket.

I have gone through so damned much introspection this week my head is spinning. I am done for now.

additional note added after the fact:
It was not long after writing this when I realized that if I do not write, then my entire life was pointless.
NOTHING else matters.
(except the people I care for, of course.)