Curse of the Writer's Factory (Poem)

(Philosocom Writing Directory)

The void, it does not go away,

No matter how much you write a day.

It tells you, that you must write more and more,

In the name of prosperity, and to be of better worth.

It does not stop, the voice inside the head,

That tells you that all you wrote, is unfortunately not enough.

That is, because you're still alive,

And your existence, is a problem to be solved, indeed.

You have the opposite of a writer's block.

It is not a parody, not something to mock.

The thirst does not quench, no matter how much

You click on that "Publish" button.

You work in the grand ol' Writer's Factory,

And as long as they consume more and more,

There is more to produce,

And finally, perhaps when you will finally die,

You might be remembered, by the large majority of society, indeed.

The views, will not return to you,

As long as you don't have something to write that's new.

Most people do not like to read the same material,

So you have to write more and more, until the heartbeat stops.

There is no hope, to stop the desire to reach the top,

Which is followed by the path of a thousand articles.

They are, the reused device,

That will make you remembered, at least, more than once or twice, because:

You have the opposite of a writer's block.

It is not a parody, not something to mock.

The thirst does not quench, no matter how much

You click on that "Publish" button.

You work in the grand ol' Writer's Factory,

And as long as they consume more and more,

There is more to produce,

And finally, perhaps when you will finally die,

You might be remembered, by the large majority of society, indeed.

Each day, can become a great waste,

No matter how much glorious your past, has been.

Therefore, you must make your haste,

And make sure you won't commit a sloth's sin.

You can only get out of this seemingly-infinite loop,

Through death, but that is but a form of escape.

And a good example of a man does not flee,

When you desire to be remembered, in the halls of victory, because:

You have the opposite of a writer's block.

It is not a parody, not something to mock.

The thirst does not quench, no matter how much

You click on that "Publish" button.

You work in the grand ol' Writer's Factory,

And as long as they consume more and more,

There is more to produce,

And finally, perhaps when you will finally die,

You might be remembered, by the large majority of society, indeed.

The present is not defined by the past,

For the past has been done, and the future is too unclear.

Then why make a larger lifetime be consumed by rest,

When you can strive for greatness, or at least score near?

And that is why when the decision has been made and you stick to it,

Your obsession becomes like a giant stomach that is not satisfied, no matter how much it eats.

Therefore you are cursed by being in the Writer's Factory,

All in the hopes that you will be finally BECOME RELEVANT by humanity,

All because:

You have the opposite of a writer's block.

It is not a parody, not something to mock.

The thirst does not quench, no matter how much

You click on that "Publish" button.

You work in the grand ol' Writer's Factory,

And as long as they consume more and more,

There is more to produce,

And finally, perhaps when you will finally die,

You might be remembered, by the large majority of society, indeed.

My hope of serenity has been lost,

Because that emotion comes with a great cost:

The cost of not writing as much as you can,

And that is the best thing you can do, in that field, to become a great man.

Submission, is unacceptable,

When there is much potential, that is available.

I will not be useless, I will not be irrelevant,

When I am capable of much,

And that is, folks, a writer's revenant.

The factory --

Your room is your workplace,

That will settle the score, that will make you remembered in a greater space.

Your mind is the device,

That will melt every bit of potential, covered in ice.

There seems to be no stop to this but in death,

And this is why you can't be serene, on this Earth.

You are bound to try to prove yourself,

Because a lesser result than that will make yourself less than half.

Because,

You work in the grand ol' Writer's Factory,

And as long as they consume more and more,

There is more to produce,

And finally, perhaps when you will finally die,

You might be remembered, by the large majority of society, indeed.