Randy Freie Poet Rhyme

Iron Quill

The quill flows friendly in steady hands
The ink spreads over the page like butter
Thoughts and ideas are conveyed quickly
No verbal setbacks from slur or stutter

Soon, brilliance breaks free from the shadows 
Fame and accolades are on the menu
Adoring fans throw laurels at your feet
Your name up in lights atop each venue

Then a funny thing happens to your ego
All this attention has exiled your gift
Your quill weeps and sheds lonely tears of ink
Thru the rubble, just broken words to sift

Now, gone are the laurels, gone are your fans
No more accolades, no more fond greeting
Your quill just went limp, like your dying dreams
Words are eternal, but fame is fleeting

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