I recall the many crumpled pieces of paper <br />It took to complete a single thought <br />The noisy typewriter and the worn out erasers <br />Would petition me to bring an end to their plight <br />As I would push myself away from the desk <br />Trying to get some rest before morning light arrived <br />The ash tray left smelling up the room with the remains <br />Of a pack of cigarettes smoked down to their filters <br />Yellow fingers and bad breath drenched in nicotine <br />Were the end result of hours and hours of self examination <br />It was a struggle to write anything back then <br />Let alone something to leave behind for you to read<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1967-critiqued-after-all-these-years/
