by Stanley W. Shura

Created on: April 09, 2010

A Poetry Submission

When I embark to write a poem
sometimes the vision is grand.
At first the starkness overwhelms -
a paralysis siezes my hand.

The purpose, that's the mountain
seeming infinite and impassible.
It dries the ink from my pen's fountain,
the hourglass's sand at last too full.

To seek deliberately to muse
with wit and eloquence to spare.
Does do me in, as it's no use
when the canvas desires to stay bare.

But as the product beats me down
and the art proves greater yet again,
At last I hear the poem's sound,
and *its* music moves *my* pen!

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