Two o’clock in the morning
Pen is running dry
Ideas are not forming
Yet you want to try
Not ready to admit
It’s probably time to quit
You think perhaps a sonnet
Or maybe a haiku
Don’t want to be redundant
Has to be something new
You hear the seconds ticking
You write words you’re picking
It starts to come along
A sort of futile effort
To show that you belong
Which would be a comfort
You know all the rules
Why do they seem so cruel?
Just a few more lines
Then I’ll have one more
A style you can’t define
But one that doesn’t bore
Willingly forgo quality
By favoring quantity
Stanski
August 22, 2020 ^
Steve Haarman 