In Search of Genius: a Poet's Agony
My search for the perfect last line
can be hellish or something quite divine.
I never end a work of genius with something less,
for if I did I'd never live down the shame, I must confess.
I sometimes shake my head in disbelief
at the dysfunction of my brain when in grief
and consternation. I am besieged by a muddled mind.
And still I search for the elusive ending. The one I cannot find.
And when I believe I have found the solution
I am given a critique by one who gives me absolution.
Be Silent, moron, if your foolish words are merely to placate!
Be gone with your false chatter. There is nothing more that I hate.
An unfinished work of art is a terrible bane,
and the fact is, that thought in not entirely profane.
I've been known to scream phrases of irreverent profanity
while plagued without resolution. I am cursed with near insanity.
All the wrong words keep echoing in my head.
An unfinished poem is by far the worse thing I dread.
I will not sign my name to poetry unless I consider it clever.
I get frustrated while searching for a final line, but give up? Never!
Copyright © Marti Sutherland | Year Posted 2016
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