Poetry Writing

All it takes is one line,
And the rest of it’s fine,
But sometimes that one line is elusive.
You hunt high,
You hunt low,
But the words will not flow,
And your poem is far from conclusive.
You put words on the page,
But look on in a rage,
Knowing these are the wrong words,
Not right ones.
So you sit and you stare,
Just past Heaven knows where
Thinking is my muse there?
Does she no longer care
To inspire my ramblings
And rantings?
She eventually comes,
Laying trails of crumbs,
To a place where the words are residing,
And in the shortest of time,
You have found that one line,
And the rest follow on, no more hiding.