It Was Once Said that Inspiration/ For a Wrier Dries Up With Age

It was said once that the inspiration
For a writer dries up with age.
Subtly, I feel it.
I feel the East Wind blowing
The West Tides making their slumbering folds
Upon the sanded beaches.
How the waves shape the beach
And the unending cycling of the powers
Of West and East
Make their revolving cyclones.

And I say, I am satisfied with what I have written.
Unlike the elder author
Whose craft has dried up
The imagination's liquor
Dried up, and the inebriation
Of the mental waves of peace and love.
I have had a good writing career.

Now, I have one more feat.
I must get them read.
How, I do not know.
But, I will, like a hermit in a cloister,
Cling to God, my work,
And read and write the numerous thoughts
I entertain.
Though, that imagination is dried up
The well, there are things by which I occupy myself with
Which satisfy just as much as my creativity.
Piano and Hand Drums are not so interesting to me
As they were in my youth,
So it is that writing is not as interesting to me now.
And I feel at peace, that I have climbed mountains like Everest
I had forded trenches as deep as the Marianas,
I had written Kitsch---so it was called once, though it is the best of what I've written---
I had written literary masterpieces.

I am satisfied with my work.
And I cannot see anything more to be done,
Except to wait on God to get it the notoriety it needs.
Must I create my avatar of fame?
I wish not to, rather but be the man I am
And allow all to see the man I am.
The mute man at the clinic
Told me I was not a good man.
I am not a good man---
But Christ is a good man
Enough for both of us.
And I wish not to have my Avatar of fame
I wish to eat my pound of flesh
Bed my wife...

What will occupy my time?
What will I do?
It is in my thoughts to escape to the Amish
To garden with them.
Though I am weak. Very weak.
Though they will make me strong
For the Daughter of Zion
So I can inherit my bride
My wife... the portion of all Israel;
A beautiful city like a woman.
And we shall be wedded to her
And women shall be wedded to God.

I am satisfied with life.
Very satisfied.
I am satisfied with discovering the truths hidden in everything.
I am satisfied with my creative endeavors
Though I am no longer as creative as I once was.
I am very satisfied.
And I shall wait upon my work
Anxiously. And when it is discovered
I shall be satisfied even more.
I shall be satisfied by my Woman's Beating Heart
And I shall be satisfied with my work I have done in the world.
I have done much work.
Labored plenty in the arts of wisdom---
And even some folly---
I have been made insane by the knowledge of magic
And made whole by the knowledge of faith;
I had been made a partner with the great men of letters
Whom I have sucked from, and taken their wisdom from them
And recycled it for a new generation.
I have even contributed my own thoughts.
And I shall wait for them to be heard.
 
But, my writing is waning.
I understand this.
I shall not be frustrated as Eric Hoffer's True Believer is
When the well dries up.
For I can cook, I can play instruments, I can occupy myself with the ideas of others.
I can find the liquor of all words
And derive their sense.
I can find it in those whom I disagree with...
Seek to understand what truth makes them confess their falsehood.
I can find it in those I agree with, and be offended by the falsehoods I see.
I can sit patiently, and dialogue, and enjoy conversation.
I can discern the meaning in a malapropism.
I can even discover the meaning of life.

There is work for this writer to do
But I have touched upon all wisdom with my craft.
Furtherance of it---
And I will go further, but not much---
Is not necessary.