Lines Like These

You’re all out of passion, all out of rage
Spent all day staring at a blank page
Can’t find the words to encompass your dreams
Robbed of your talent, that’s how it seems
Sweat a little blood for reason and rhyme
Feel up against it, running out of time
The muse is fading, metre’s under strain
Ask if it’s worth all the heartache, and pain

The day job beckons when the money’s too tight
A shrug of regret for another lost fight
Tear up the books, trash the files
Lose yourself in routine and denial
Hope and pray that the ink keeps flowing
You’ll hit the mark, but there’s no way of knowing
No quick fixes, no guarantees
There’s no entitlement to lines like these…

Hanging by the threads of your self-respect
Inspiration comes when you least expect
Up with the lark, sun’s yet to rise
Filled with a mixture of hope and surprise
Verse by verse and phrase by phrase
Sense the truth in what it says
The mind’s engaged, the heart is pure
Build it well, it will endure

Crying with joy, a silent hurray
Perhaps you won’t throw in the towel today
There on the page, an indelible song
Maybe it was waiting in the wings all along
Revealed at last, its beauty unfurled
Lives and breathes, at large in the world
Leaves you behind, a child grown and gone
Back to the beginning, a seed to be sown…

© 2017 Bruford Low