I wrote this thinking about the difficulty of writing. This Sonnet explains itself. Sort-of?
As I Set Out To Write
By: JMM (me)
These words, they do not come easy to me
Try as I might, I remain speechless, dumb
The words written are not as they should be
They are nonsense and thus I remain: numb
These words, they resemble those flying birds
As they flutter from my grasp, all are gone
Paragraphs, stanzas fleeing as a herd
Cannot seize them, no matter how I run
As I stop to catch my breath, I look up
The birds have not gone, above me they fly
The herd is there, ready for the round-up
This hardship was but inside my mind’s eye
I cinch up my saddle, prepare to ride
These mental vistas, my own countryside
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