I fail to understand why it is sometimes, when I feel so utterly compelled to write about something, that I am never able to express it with coherence and clarity and paint for the viewer a resplendent replica of what is seen in my mind. Even right now, I struggle to form the next sentence, slyly employing meretricious language to make the post seem less sparse. I think because there swirls in my mind a multitude of ideas that the tempestuousness of it all incessantly disrupts my thoughts, leaving my pen aimless and confused.
What I shall need is a more a decisive and disciplined mind; one that can sieve through the foliage of information and find the beauteous flower that has been captivating my curiosity; one that will take no heed of peripheral distractions and devote all focus to the sole significant thought; one that every man, poet or writer covets most deeply.
And I shall need too a more prolific set of transcribing skills; for what good will be an idea, however extraordinary, if it subsists only in the cloistered space of my mind. I shall need my words to be as penetrating as the gaze of a lynx, as resounding as the echoes in a canyon, as persistent as the hum of nature, as provoking as temptation and as eternal as time. The road is sinuous, treacherous, and I fear I may never reach the summit of expression prowess. The only regret that afflicts me is my not having begun earlier in my readings and writings. But the past is not malleable and so, I will have to strive now, in spite of being disadvantaged by the late start and shackled by the myriad pleasures of our technological zeitgeist, to attain that clarity in expression and power in voice.