The elusive line fails and slips through the net
The failure appears to be at the writer’s regret
Perfection comes when the fingers are left to fly
Instead of writing one line and then waiting for the sky
So let go your fingers and the verse will appear
Galloping through the trail of your warm tears
Not stopping to take the time to back up and read
Push on towards ending on your golden steed
The treasure awaits and you draw ever near
Wait don’t pull up short you’re nearly facing your fears
Softly approaching your mind never clearer
You smile whispering to yourself standing in front of the mirror
© 2011 Michael Yost
http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/p/poetry-potluck-monday_29.html
Michael's Lair 