This went into a completely different direction than what I intended; I love it and hope you do, too. :) Enjoy!

I try to swim against the words
flowing from my Muse,
but I'm caught in a rip current
of prose -

My poems flash before my eyes;
are they good enough
to save me from myself or will
I drown

in a salty ocean of tears
that was created
in a moment of self-doubt and
pity?

Seagulls scream suggestions in rhyme,
but I don't listen
to birds who live only to eat
and fly.

What do they know of poetry?
I float on my back,
trying to relax, keeping the
panic

out of my pen; suddenly the
relentless movement
of being dragged out to sea stops ...
I write

myself to safety and rejoice
in the pen's power;
thanks, God, for letting me control
the words.

(c) 2005, Karla Dorman.