Fifty years ago I took up the pen <br />on a spur of the moment thought; <br />never thinking of the heartaches <br />in doing so would lead me to <br />or the sadness and loneliness <br />that would follow my life. <br />Nor the nights I cried <br />for the rejections I received, <br />not for what I had written, <br />but for whom I happened to be. <br /> <br />There have been times when friends <br />turned their backs on me, <br />but the greatest hurt came from within my family. <br />Always saying my sister could do it better, <br />but never the encouragement when I needed it <br />the most to spur me on to do better, <br />just words that brought disgust <br />and sadness into my life, <br />that made me walk down vacant streets <br />alone with only my thoughts for company. <br /> <br />Now fifty years on I’m at a crossroad <br />not sure which way to turn. <br />One road leads to giving up <br />while the other leads to carry on, <br />but I’m trapped in a time capsule <br />with the past revolving around my head <br />and decisions getting harder with every step I take. <br />Both directions are grabbing my arms <br />in a tug of war to cross their line. <br /> One side wants me to give up <br />and never write again. <br /> <br />While the other wants me to carry on <br />reaching for the dreams I always wanted. <br />Tonight I’ll cry myself to sleep <br />on a pillow already stained with many tears. <br />Perhaps I’ll wake in the morning <br />and a decision will be made <br />or will it be another day <br />of torment at what I should do. <br />Only the future knows the answer <br />and at the moment it’s not telling me.<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fifty-years-3/
