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Poem

I've thrown my quill in quiet rage
   sometimes, when mocked by empty page.
I read such vibrant poetry 
  in awe, and ask how can this be? 
Fresh imagery splashed on the page
  with wisdom of the ancient sage,
allusions from the well-read shelf 
   with rhymes to please the Bard himself.

Thus insecure, I feel defeat -
   believing I cannot compete.
My words like sap from maple trees,
   I strain as others write with ease.
Poetic thoughts freeze like a creek -
   why does my muse play hide and seek?
Why grow downcast when I compare
   their gifts to mine - what gain is there?

It's then I spot a butterfly 
   and see my story flitting by,
with wings unique and delicate,
   in colors bold and elegant.
It draws the flower's nectar sweet 
   and knows that it need not compete,
for nature's bounty will abound -
   there's plenty there to go around.
   
My double-helix DNA 
   will dance its own distinct ballet,
no other tale could I design,
   no other poet could write mine.
So I retrieve neglected quill
   and vow to write again! I will
share thoughts to fill another's cup 
   with odes to hope, not giving up.

If insecure, make this your creed:
   to learn from poets - read, read, read.
Let thoughts ascend to soaring height 
   to hone your craft then write, write, write!
Wait patiently upon your muse 
   to send fresh words to speak your views,
for only YOU can speak what's there 
   within your heart, your poet heart 
      so rare.


Written 19 May 2022

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