Chelsea Crisman

Rookie - 0 Points (1994 / Oklahoma)

Fate Of A Writer - Poem by Chelsea Crisman

His eyes burn and throb.
If only to close them,
It would all go away.
The thoughts won't allow him.
He must write them down!
All those ideas in his head!
So many words swirling around!
He has to let them out!
No sleep in three days,
But this is what makes the best work.
When he's so tired he can only dream
And he no longer has to think.
Those memories fade away.
Pure emotion pushes through.
That's when he knows he can manifest them.
If not in his life,
Then in the eyes of others.
Inspiration, heart break, and determination;
They all flow from his pen as naturally as snow falls.
Someone, somewhere, will someday read it.
That's all he asks for,
For someone to understand.
Is it so ludicrous a wish?
All these words he spills onto paper,
And not a one has ever actually listened to one.
Some call him crazy,
Others say he is outstanding.
They don't see though.
They don't see what is hidden in those words.
He writes in his insanity,
Screaming for hope
And praying for friend.
Praying for a friend that knows.
Ink stains his hands,
Sleep clouds his eyes.
Was that her voice he just heard?
Coming from the window?
Setting down his pen, he rises.
Each step takes him closer to her.
Each step separates him from his right mind.
There she is, so beautiful.
Calling his name, her arms reach out.
He's on the window sill, leaning out.
From his apartment, he thought he heard a scream.
He doesn't know.
He doesn't remember.
There she is!
Right in front of him!
Arms outstretched, he takes one last step.
One last step to be united with his fate.


Poet's Notes about The Poem

I stay awake until the point I can no longer think. Then I write. This seemed fitting for me as it flowed from my finger tips.

Comments about Fate Of A Writer by Chelsea Crisman

  • Louis Rams (4/25/2012 10:29:00 PM)


    the same way that there is a thin line between love and hate
    there is also a thin line between sanity and insanity.
    who is to say what is sane and what is not, when there is so much that we've forgot.

    a beautiful write!
    (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • (4/21/2012 9:41:00 PM)


    A united fate.
    Indeed their is a dream with each stroke he takes.
    The psychology behind his motive if it is insane the way he writes.
    Then it is of insanity of I wish do the same.
    When we love, we must continue even when as if we have nothing left.
    A tired passion is not desperate, but instead persistent.
    A heart will thunder of butterfly kisses even when the eyes are closed.
    And I prefer a fantasy over reality because it is only as horrible as you make it.
    (Report) Reply

  • Peter Stavropoulos (4/17/2012 8:06:00 PM)


    There's a fine line between insanity and the clearest sanity. I enjoyed the insights in this poem. Best wishes. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 17, 2012



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