Writing verse is a repetitious affair, almost like being married. That's it, a poet is married to his pen, then comes the den.
I actually could leave
a blank page
A blank page left me
For years I've been
following
Writing my heart out
I'm kind of tired of
being the pages slave
But I can't figure any
better way to pass time
Time continues to
pass on into the future
The page and I
are its slave
The page has no choice
but I do
I can quit anytime I desire
I've thought about this
many times
but still writing verse
always sublimes
Never be tired of the Gift, GEM, it was given for a reason. And it's a good thing it was. =] Well done, could think of worse ways to pass the time! And it's not illegal. So: write away!
well said--i am not as prolific as some but understsnd the sentiments expressed
Reviewed by Flying Fox Ted L Glines (Reader)
Reviewed on September 11, 2008
You'd think, after all these years, we'd run out of words - the pen would run dry and all the blank pages would blow away in an arid empty desert wind. Ah, but I fear, Grady, that such a time may come - beyond the grave. Until then, where did I put that dratted pen :-)
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Love Tinka
A poet and his words never part.
Sandie Angel :o)
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Ted