I wanted to write a poem,

just a verse or two for the night.

But I couldn’t find an idea,

nothing just seemed quite right.

I pondered a verse of love—

but what good would that do?

I’ve written about that topic before,

time to find something new.

A hornet appeared in my thoughts

(There was dead one in the window sill)

a verse of anger seemed fitting

but didn’t give much of a thrill.

I read some poems of others—

(There are folks out there who can write!)

Looking for inspiration

but my mind put up too much of a fight.

I drifted to my unfinished odes,

thought I’d found a treasure or two,

toyed with some, words wouldn’t come,

I’d have to start a poem anew.

But my spirit would not be deterred!

My desire would not be denied!

I would pen a great masterpiece,

then share it with folks with pride—

Loftier themes then came to me

of injustice, the law, and the like,

a verse to challenge societal norms

but my words were weak with no bite.

Oh why was this task so difficult?

Why was this write so hard?

Where was my muse to guide me?

Time to give up and this poem discard…

Because I wanted to write a poem

just a verse or two for the night,

But I guess I’ll just try tomorrow

and you know what? That’ll still be alright.