Funny how I never do understand
how I am just… a generic brand—
nothing special here to see
when I again reveal the real me.
Just a poet with a true poem,
condemned to simply roam
across a vast blizzarded page
in a quest for some forgotten age.
In the hope that someone will read
my endless, ever-pathetic feed,
wept words in a delible ink,
disregarded once more in a blink.
Tossed over another cold shoulder,
now that I am so much older
than I ever then dared to be
in the wildfire life meant to free.
As I ignited every single spark
in pursuit of some trademark—
something to make me stand out,
drive away all of this dark doubt.








NOTHING generic about you in my eyes, S.
But I get self-doubt.
Splendid spill.
I’m so in awe (jealous) of your flow…
Thank you for sharing!
Thanks so much… sometimes it works…
This poem itself is wildfire, S. Yes, reveal the real you.. more and more in your work! Another great read…
Daniel
WHO has ever heard of a generic dragon? Just wow. I don’t think so.
I love this piece, though. You elaborate the exhausting discouragement of inherent transparency to the point of being invisible. We’re all just another ant on the hill… until we drag home that rubber tree plant. Or, you can just blow fire! It worked for Godzilla.
You’re no more generic than a Ferrari. Give me a ride.
Superb work. Powerful.
Life of a writer, LDF. Powerful my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian