My writing hands cold.
Black ink leaks away.
My crispy words old,
And nothing to say.
My reader's annoyed.
My pages are dark.
My universe void.
Deep-frozen the spark.
My pen cuts my vain
And dips in my blood,
Blood-letting my letters.
They drip in the mud.
Where used to be passion,
There's "S.O.S. Pain!"
Tiktok is the fashion.
This poem's insane.
My doubts drive like white wine:
They help me work hard.
My planning and outline
Prepare for the start.
Draft, edit and polish,
And finish the dream.
Don't doubt to demolish.
Doubt's part of the team.
[Author's Note: Doubt is a tool; it keeps me alert and helps me to get the best out of myself. Without doubt, I would be arrogant, stubborn, not open to learn. I kill my fears and my doubts with knowledge, asking others for help and opinions.
Discipline + Structure = Success. I reserve regular time for writing, work out my ideas in an outline, write several drafts, read and edit and polish, and don't stop until I'm satisfied.
Suffer the pain of discipline and efficiency, or suffer the pain of doubts and regrets.]
YOU ARE READING
Precious Poetry
PoetryFrom PROBLEM to POEM in 7 steps the Why, Where, When, What, Who, How & Wow of writing poetry Ai Ni and Ronaldo made this book to help poor people in Haiti, to build a school and teach them the art of a happy life. A warning upfront from the editor:...
