I Ponder the words
     Oher writers have wrote,
To speak volumes in syllables
Understand feelings in notes

I wonder can I compare
To the madness of Poe
Share the wonder of Silverstein,
Shelley's monstrous despair,
Or the screams of Van Gogh?

Can I write myself Treetops  
Frost's trails traveled by
Could I create my own Iliad
Command with Tennyson  
Or on Stoker's bat wings rise,

I am no one too many
Someone too few,
Though my voice is unheard
       Painful my artform,
Enduring shall try
Paint pattern and scribe
My spark in the darkness
The dream I'll pursue.