Far from the din of madding crowd, <br />And away from the bustle of city streets, <br />I withdrew into a solitary spot, <br />To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse. <br /> <br />Shelley and Shakespeare came in view, <br />Emily and Eliot fell in line, <br />Their verse ringing loud and clear, <br />Their energy fanning fire within. <br /> <br />I dreamt of putting proper words, <br />To clothe my thoughts in striking notes, <br />Longed to pour my loaded heart, <br />In powerful verse to move the hearts. <br /> <br />But as I started scrawling down, <br />All that I had stored in hoards - <br />Ebbed out into mere froth and foam, <br />Leaving bits of broken thoughts. <br /> <br />I sallied out for a stunning theme, <br />And stroked my pen to put it down, <br />But topics eluded me one by one, <br />Unable to decide on what to dwell, <br /> <br />I rummaged my memory for apt words, <br />And dallied round with lofty themes. <br />Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts, <br />And hackneyed phrases came alive. <br /> <br />I strained hard to give them life, <br />And laboured in vain to make them rhyme, <br />‘The Blazing Sun' and ‘the Brilliant Star', <br />Both faded out with no trace of glow. <br /> <br />I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount, <br />To drink from the fountain gushing down, <br />But hot lava spurted out, <br />And the wings of fancy burnt outright! <br /> <br />No Muse appeared to enliven me, <br />Nor my fantasy lingered long, <br />I stared blank into the scroll in front, <br />Unable to scribble even a moving thought. <br /> <br />Like a soldier vanquished in war, <br />I put away my paper and pen. <br />Blowing out my urge to write, <br />I bowed before all Bards so famed.<br /><br />Valsa George<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-death-of-a-poet-2/
