You ask me why?
Why do I write?
I look at you with weary eyes
And often speculate myself
Now ask me again why I write
Then ask me why I breathe?
Ask me why I search when others deny
Oblivious to them, not me…
An unknown, forlorn poetess
Verbs pouring from my pores
May touch a heart as yet unknown
Sneaking in through open doors.
A hundred thirty five years from now
When all I am is dust.
A written line may touch
As yet an unborn life
I write because I must.
All rights reserved. ©2011 by Sara Fryd
*Note - Watched Clint Eastwood’s exceptional film “Invictus” (definition ‘unconquered’). This began my search for the poem of the same name that follows and subsequently for the inspiration to write the one above.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.