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Rated: E · Poetry · Arts · #890120
My essence. My Joy/Tragedy and perhaps the Words..upon my death truly be unchangeable.
What Muse doth guide my rapid strokes,
to seize upon my mind?
For each and every word I write,
another lies behind

Every word, each phrase is pounded out
upon the sparkling screen
My fingers of their own accord
so lightly trace my dream

As I then read the end result
in consternation peer
Were these the very words I wrote
why’s not their meaning clear

Now with changes carefully made
and great frustration fraught
I reach perhaps a point in time
"the essence I have caught"

And yet upon another hour,
another week or year
Upon these very words I gaze,
again they are unclear

Is it these words, are they at fault
or I who cannot see
For they are surely just the same
so maybe it is me

A Tear for me, if you please
Some patience and your time
For tempted am I now you see
To rewrite this very line!

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/890120-The-Unfinished-Poet---Revised-again