The vulnerable aspect of a writer’s soul
Is bared before the world, relinquishing control
When publishing an update to the waiting gaze
For editors and audiences to appraise
But art alone in secret cannot grow or thrive
It must be shared with someone if it’s to survive
So heavy though the task be, let this thought console:
If no one reads your writing, or your turn of phrase
Never did your work have the chance to be alive
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Form: Trine, lines are Alexandrines
Prompt: NaPoMoFo Day 19
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