So, Tis An Author You Wish To Be

So, tis an author

You wish to be!

And, why, I ask,

Do you come to me?

Because, I write so

Much, you say,

So many pretty lines

Throughout the day.

True, it is my passion;

It must be so for you.

Yet, with fervent zeal,

Words at times flow few,

Bringing fitful malaise,

Wasteful lingering doubt,

A brain inactive and dull,

And depressing flameout.

I mean not to dampen

Your dream of writing

But there are few who

Will find it requiting.

Then, if you are like me

And write for the soul,

No matter the repulsive foe,

You have ultimate control.

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