Mr Misty Eyes

Dewey eyed and quite upset

The tears they run his cheeks quite wet

Hands over ears tries to forget

And block out all the noise


That’s all I am writing.  I do occasionally dabble in things that might be considered a little deeper but to be honest I don’t really have the experience or the emotional depth to pull it off.  Oh I can fake it but that’s not the same is it.

I can listen to a song and transform the sentiment into my own words or the emotions into something different but those feelings are not mine.  I can pick a topic and attempt to wax lyrical but I find myself rolling my eyes at myself. 

I haven’t had a particularly difficult life and feel very lucky and I often see so many wonderful emotive pieces and get quite envious but then I remember that there are real people and real emotions behind much of what I read and before I know it I am writing about a man from Ceylon who had a pendulous dong instead. 

I suppose I could write about the angst of not being able to find my remote control or perhaps write a sonnet about the challenges of having the most untidy garden on the street.

Ooh what about something in iambic pentameter about the challenges of being a white middle class male.

As great as it would be to be able to convey such emotional intensity I realise that I am quite lucky to not necessarily have those things to write about.  I realise that when the revolution I will likely be first against the wall.  But hey, finding a couple of words to rhyme with gonorrhoea is something right!

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