Writer’s Festival


Rockwood Lodge in it’s early days

The muse hangs heavy
over Rockwood Lodge this weekend.
I used to go there, walk amongst them
try to breathe in their success
but now I don’t.

Their stories are not mine.
Mine can not yet be contained between two hard covers
and I will never fit
into that world of writers at large.

I know I have a story to tell
It taps incessantly at my brain
trying to make me hear
but as yet I can not.

I have not broken the code
of thoughts, dreams, feelings,
that envelope me.

Inside and out – I am a writer
but the story,
my story
refuses to be written.

©1999 Sharron R. McMillan

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