Hanging On a High Cliff

It is madness how I write my poetry, Around me mountains of paper collect; By candlelight I write with pure insanity, Until I hang on a cliff of a poem perfect. It is desperation that I seek the last line, Oh, mighty peak of sweet writing bliss; The ecstasy and passion like a red wine, My pen drips but I am lost in an abyss. It is craziness how I write in a frenzy, Around me piles of books are tumbling; By dawns glow I pen in mad lunacy, Until I stand on a crag- words drifting, It is mania how I write my poetry, Oh, euphoria when my muse is on fire; All day I ponder my words carefully, And all so my poem you will admire. __________________ May 16, 2016 Poetry/Rhyme/Hanging On A High Cliff Copyright Protected, ID 16-7911-63-0 All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.