A poem started,
rhythm considered,
rhyme pondered,
stanzas metered.
The play's first scene blocked out,
understudies rehearsed,
actors performed.
The novel's plot outlined,
the epilogue signed,
first chapter written.
A symphony's opening movement composed,
cymbals clashed,
trumpets shouted,
cellos moaned.
Then the poet rubs out the verse,
the playwright crumples the page,
the author puts down his pen,
the composer hears a different note,
leaves the work,
and starts over again.
2 comments:
So poignant. This is healing time, time to honor. You do your journey so much justice with words.
XOXO
You are amazing. I love you.
Post a Comment