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