A poem is not a place
to belong
It’s hard and rough
treacherous and long
words are wounded
bled and blended
the rhymes are lies
stiff short and ended
lines are cut
and dissected
meanings fray
if not mended
a poem is no place
too small
to find your space
without a wall
or ground to pace
no not at all
no support or hold
for a poor poet
not to fall
At one time or another a poet gets frustrated, angry even tormented by what was meant to be a joyous experience. Do you dare to write? I hate it! But no doubt I’ll write another tomorrow.