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.
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May 16, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/Hanging On A High Cliff
Copyright Protected, ID 16-7911-63-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2016
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