I'M Just Getting Started
I try to be a poet worth his salt
who daily prods his muse, urging it
to offer up a cogent phrase or
heartfelt rhyme, but then instead
I slump in vacuous stupor, devoid
of verse, for hours and hours,
sitting all alone before an
ancient, worn-out, writing desk.
A pen lies still upon its surface—
marred by those who suffered
once to summon hidden masterpiece,
urging its memorable existence.
My page is blank, as I ponder
Shakespeare, Poe, Wordsworth
and Dickinson, among the many
great and silent others.
Who like me, once sat bemused
before an empty sheet. It was then
I realized, that I am just like them!
And I’m just getting started.
September 23, 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment