Keep Hoping

I keep hoping
to excel in Poetry,
but the till of the plow
has miles to go
years to tread
and tears to shed.

Where does one start
and when?
Does it just hit you
in head on collisions
or do fingers tap dance
around it
taunting you
but somehow
it grabs on
And will not let go,

Alas - thy journey begins
consonant to vowel character
attaches word to words chatter
Poet Tree then sprouts
Thee rooted veins
Bark of the Bard
arises to break dye ground
which stains parchment with verse
Limbs bee busy poets flailing fingers
That leave the pages
in rhyming time.

When does it
ever end
with the last breath
saying I Love you?
Nay says the soothsayer
as long as there
be readers
who open books
listen to recordings
find that special spark
that plants the seed
where the till of the plow
has miles to go
years to tread
and tears to shed.