I could...

A little free verse poem about my struggles writing poetry. For a time, everything I put to paper felt forced.

I could...

I could write
    dozens of words
of fresh springtime and bubbles
and the beautiful blue day.

I could compose
    hundreds of verses
of chilly raindrops and low music
and heaven’s sweet breath on earth.

I might lay out
    thousands of stanzas
of ballet shoes and champagne
and smiles that put diamonds to shame.

I may describe
     pages upon pages
of red roses and murmuring waves
and lavender candles burning low.

I should pen
    entire novels
painting passions found and loves lost
and sparkling midnight skies.

I might do all that
    but then you would know
I was trying way too hard.

Reviews

[mope]

I love the indulgence of refusing to be self-indulgent. A great pastiche with a nice twist.

[Sara]

lol, love the ending, that final line is perfect. i completely recognize the feeling you're talking about here; writing is such a pain, constantly trying to find something that sounds natural and true and isn't so, *so* cliched... it's always nice to know you're not alone, eh? ;)

[Speechless Shadow]

Good poem. I like it. Keep up the good work!