Poet’s Angst

Form: Free Verse

Long nights writing my soul
in lines and verse
a poet at his craft, they say
the agony of each word twists
on the pen and ink pools like blood
as minutes, hours, and days pass
with endless cups of tea to comfort the tears
ease the fears
as depression bites harder
anxiety rising for no reason
questioning each word
where does a word belong
beginning a line or ending
earlier in the verse
or the closing thought
what if it shouldn’t be there at all
and a comma raises its head
demon of poetics
tormenting my mind with pauses
elongated on the page
yet as daylight touches the horizon
I’m still here with a wry smile
for a poem is more than words and device
it’s the survival
the victory of telling the tale


5 thoughts on “Poet’s Angst

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