This poem expresses the common frustrations of poets.
The first verse talks about the difficulty in trying to translate one's thoughts onto papers and while the pen bleeds, the papers long for the poet's touch.
The verses that follows talks about the struggles for recognition in this present age, but then the poet continues to write, driven by the desire for authenticity and a belief in the enduring power of art.
The words, they dance upon my tongue
Like a coal waiting to be free of pain
Papers waits, and the ink bleeds
A barren ground hungry for the writers pen
The poet sighs, his spirit wanes
A prisoner of forgotten strain
Lonely in his lone chair, the poet sat
Waiting for an outburst of words
But the world desired a different art
Stories of legends, who lived before the age
But he, the poet seeks the truth
Words in verse, timeless and forever new
So let him write, though none may heed
His pain, his joy, his confessions
Maybe in years to come
The writers words will bloom, and be a guiding light.