• A Cynic’s Plight

    by Erika McLitus

    It seems like everything I set out to write
    Points out the flaws I see
    Through my own flawed sight.
     
    Even this, which should be a celebration…
    I can’t help but want to criticize and analyze,
    until it’s not a thanksgiving, but a degradation.
     
    I can’t just think of my gratitude,
    I am compelled to kill it with reasons,
    until my words are tainted with a poisonous attitude.
     
    I wish I knew how to explain
    what I do feel, that bliss that exists
    before my lips render the pure profane.

    posted to Cedar Street Times on November 18, 2011

    Topics: Young Writers' Corner

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