You Know Me Well 11-19-16

My breath on pane

is all in vain.

It's bitter cold outside.

With fog on glass,

the hours pass.

I swallow deep, my pride.

The plume atop

my quill would stop

with only me to thank.

There are no herds

of rhyming words.

My frozen mind is blank.

I pray to God
but find it odd
that rhyme's don't come to me.
At any cost
I am so lost.
Is this just meant to be?

But it is rare,

that I would dare

to leave before I write.
Though inkwell's here

words disappear

on parchment through the night.

Not thinking 'prose'

my words are froze

just as it is outdoors -

with barren trees

all stripped of leaves,

like extinct dinosaurs.

Now I confess

that I digress

from what I want to say.

It sure does seem

I'm losing steam.

My poem drifts away.

Should I explore

my mind some more -
that's vast as the frontier -

or let you think

I'm out of ink

and end this poem here?

Oh, what's the use

for such a truce?

I'm finished anyhow.

I sure can tell

you know me well.

You're raising one eyebrow.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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