Today I thought that I will write.
Put pen to paper and express myself.
Be as elusive as Eliot or as charming as Shakespeare.
Maybe try some satire, make Dryden proud.
The words flow freely making beauty.
Mingling socially, creating poetry.
Or so I had thought, I had wished.
Hoped for a muse as grand as Milton’s
Or dreams as illustrious as the Romantics.
My life unfortunately lacks the passions of politics and romance.
No empathy for others life perchance?
I tried a little rhyming here and there.
Edited the form and the verse to no end.
Still the grace of yesteryears eluded me
I found no rhythm no meaning.
The words seemed scattered and lost
Hopelessly strung as I kept on striving.
But I’m at it, I won’t give up.
Genius after all doesn’t strike over night.
I can keep fumbling through the dark
Making my way by feeling along.
What’s to lose? Some days, some nights.
But the final product will be worth this plight.
I’ll keep to the basics, all that I was taught.
Or walk the road less travelled as did Robert Frost.