The Writer`s Heart
His self-confident voice
was redolent
with the wisdom of overcoming,
and every word he
uttered
came from his soul, —
O victory!
Like a compulsive worm
writhing
through the grime of
urban life,
he slithered his lonely
way
to new understanding,
—
O victory!
One story led to another,
easily
finding their way into
the New Yorker,
and he elated with
giddy delight
at his creations;
but his story
never ended, —
O victory!
Always hovering near
a greatness he
was too shrewd or
diffident to risk,
he garnered the
Pulitzer with ease;
but the Nobel always
eluded his
gifted, covetous reach.
O misery!
When asked why on
his deathbed, he
smiled bewilderment;
but the twinkle
in his little rabbit’s
eye betrayed the
writer’s heart, robbing
Death of
its assured victory.
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