Poetic Pains
tears gushed out from my pen,
it wasn't of its usual joy, but pain.
questions of how, where and when,
answers of now, there and then.
emotions i cant hide or feign,
moments i cant for long reign.
i sit and continually crack my brain,
he sleeps and waits for the sound of my pen.
my brain pops, my hand swells,
he wakes and perceives my pen's smell.
i write and my likes are ten,
he copies and his, a thousand and ten.
i appear as the fake, then
he appears original;the main.
till now i have come to learn,
that poetry has its own pain.
© Ambassador Amakor 2018
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