A Writer Is There Own Worst Critic
The words glideLike spilling oil
Yet bringing less
Dismal turmoil
Instead theres life
That dances about
Glittering and shimmering
Save for one shout
From the writers lips
Forever sealed
Through only pen
Are his thoughts revealed
His sacred words
The closest friends
Trail frayed fibers
From loose ends
He tries hard
But try as he might
The writer cant make
His message right
A tune off-key
Only noticeable to him
Yet its enough
To keep joy dim
So as the world rejoices
He howls in frustration
Tearing out hair
for his poems duration.
By: Liz Prosser
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