Death Of A Poet <br /> <br />He sits in this room, pen and paper at hand, <br />Afraid that his poems are nothing but bland. <br />Emotions unbridled but no ink will flow; <br />He's so much to say that no one will know. <br /> <br />He can't find his voice, his feelings, his words. <br />Where is that harmony written in thirds? <br />He's anxious to write a poem that will please <br />There's others who seem to write with such ease. <br /> <br />' What is a poem? ' he asks in the dark. <br />Inspiration eludes him; he waits for the spark <br />That bursts into flame and whirls from his mind. <br />Instead he just sits, his thoughts undefined. <br /> <br />Soon all his scribbles begin to make sense, <br />His sentences still in an imperfect sequence <br />But maybe his scrawl will turn into verse <br />Artful enough to break this damn curse. <br /> <br />With structure and cadence, and rhyme? , <br />Just maybe the critics will like it this time. <br />He sends it out on the computer before <br />His courage fails and he deletes it once more. <br /> <br />Next morning he awakes and pulls up the site <br />Certainly he'll read of the critics delight. <br />But to his dismay they hated each phrase <br />His work had received not one word of praise. <br /> <br />Forlorn and depressed he knew what to do <br />So he wrote them a note to bid them adieu <br />Swallowed his pride with a bottle of red <br />Pulled out a pistol and shot himself dead! <br /> <br />Jim 1995<br /><br />James Casey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-of-a-poet-5/
