Monroe Township, New Jersey, USA
The Deed is Done, The Doers Undone
Every morning, writing pad at hand, I sit in my favorite lounge chair and savor my first cup of coffee. This morning, I hear muse whispers. After summoning the right words, I begin to compose a new poem. My muse questions the tone, the tempo, and the rhythm of the poem. I love my poem, she doesn't. After fiery arguments, failing to convince me to make changes, furious and fuming, she storms out. Undeterred, determined to finish, I decide to continue, but feeling quite empty and frustrated, halfway through the poem, I am stumped.
Unable to go on—to rethink, to recharge—I go jogging. Along the roadside, I am shocked to find her bleeding body as she draws her last breath. Can this accident be the result of her irrational and erratic behavior provoked by our earlier confrontation? Blaming myself for her death, with a heavy heart, I return home. A sense of helplessness takes over. Everything becomes pitch black. Suddenly—stunned, confused and dazed—I wake up gingerly as...
I don't have all day
Note: Title is from Shakespeare's Macbeth.