Since there're no trains
Coming from the Continent,
You're shut-in and isolated on this Isle
Of Writing far from the mainland.
All times and ages
Are intermixed today,
Putting all events out of order
Into one tight tangle.
Still, spindles are running
In their round coils,
And shuttles are bustled about,
To and from each moment. . .
As for you, you do not forget
How to lie 'for a common good.'
As many times before,
You know how to flint a sparkle
In the men's hearts where only darkness
Dictates the rules of conduct,
And horrible aftereffects grind their limbs
In the clever minds of the reading audience.
see how people, even pro, scare this word, the threat to their reputation? ;)) only you, Susanne, has caught the gist that without it you show the life as it is, leaving the art without feed. Thank you for your review. Cheers, alex
My mind is grinding as I read this right now. Caught up in my little island of writing. Lies are not my forte. They get in the way of the truth. They prolong the agony.
I don't think poets would lie, they write only when driven by inspiration. When writing anything in fiction, it's fictional, and they don't need to lie either.
When writing Fantasy or Science Fiction, it's what the writer believes it to be and they just write, using their own imagination.
Unless they talk about politics, some events are not true.
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Ron
When writing Fantasy or Science Fiction, it's what the writer believes it to be and they just write, using their own imagination.
Unless they talk about politics, some events are not true.
Sandie