Letting the Fingers Tell the Stories

Pounding, constantly pounding on an old Brother typewriter now so antique: letting the fingers tell the stories with fatigue, but tons of paper I trashed improving! Thinking, deeply thinking by delving into vivid imagery: to bring to life scenes belonging to a brief youth that was fleeing, but not living it fully...it took away all joy and ingenuity! Pounding, constantly pounding... sipping coffee, catching breath while rewriting and editing: I didn't have to meet a certain deadline battling hell; no editors to appease...no rejection letters in the mail! I haven't auctioned it on eBay; my well-kept typewriter is stored in the dim attic with other popular items of the day: collection plates, baseball shirts and a crucified Lord! Pounding, constantly pounding on an old typewriter now so antique; I spent endless nights by this window writing: dreaming of fame...never considering critique! What I cherished about fancy verses was not their richness but their meaning; I shouldn't have kept them short: avoiding any revelation of personal feeling! Pounding, constantly pounding on keys that needed a rest on weekends and special holidays, but dedication didn't allow any cheating: it impelled me to think and type, letting the fingers tell the stories!