I struggle to find
The right words, the right rhyme.
My meters seem too simple,
My methods incomplete.
Try as I may,
I find no satisfaction
In those few ideas
That present themselves to me.
I accept a few, begrudgingly,
Only to find myself pushing
Poetic license to extremes.
In time the words may come,
But for now I’ll do what I can
With the ones that I have.
If you should read these lines,
Judge not the words within,
For my mind is preoccupied.
Feb. 13, 1991
© 2010 – 2011, Steven R. Drennon. All rights reserved.