Paying The Poetry Price...Hell In A Handbasket
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Shaun Cronick
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Trials and tribulations,
Haunt my poetry pen.
That spectre of confusion,
Is back yet again.
A great idea birthed,
A poem began to form.
A poet in full flow,
A wise truth to inform.
Then hell in a handbasket,
So revealed its ugly face.
The words began to slow,
And rhymes I had to chase.
My imagination seized wholly,
My poem's temporarily on ice.
Pick up the pieces tomorrow,
Tonight, just pay the price.
Bu şiiri puanla
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