I'm going try my hardest
To get my poetry back.
I will surely do my darndest.
I know that I've been slack.
But the late night fires
That used to fuel me
Have grown dim; I tires.
The next line I don't see.
It's a tremendous strain.
My muse has done gone and fled.
Every thought is a terrible pain.
Nothing coherent to am I led.
There is no refrain that lights my soul.
No pentametric rhythm that gives me Joy.
If only I could pay a hard-earned toll,
Force my imagination to not be so coy.
There is no question about it.
Poetry is not for the feint of heart.
I really, really don't want to quit.
I just need to jump the cliff and start.
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