‘‘Twas the night after Valentines
And all throughout the house
There was writing and playing and
Not nary a mouse
I sit here with words yet to hit the page
It feels like this project has lasted an age
But the end is approaching
The next will start soon
I feel like my writing will start to balloon
By that I mean I will be writing much more
For there are great stories that I have in store
This poem is a poor indication of what
Can be if I give it my heart
The poem comes at the end of a day where
This morning I could not hardly start
I find writers block awaits me when I sit down
And attempt to finish what I dared to start
But I’ll get through it again and again because
Pain is a part of this art