Scribbles (I)

Disheartening eyes read
words in verse
in shadows of
majestic ability
perceived,
believed
or standing
through time
enjoyed
when intertwined
in the readers
mind
though not
always
understood.

Finding voice
and style,
in the midst
while trying to
stay true
to one’s self,
becomes,
for some,
a disability
for others
smiles or
even a moments
delightful
verse.

Perchance inspiration
flees the mind
when ink
joins paper
never to mar
its appearance.
A blank page,
whether paper
or electronic,
reflects
the writers
block
frustrations

So the muse
becomes the words
that cannot be
formed
and dictates
that rhyme
for the day
is out of
the question
out of sorts
as to how
it’s received
free verse?

Without sequence
or style,
but maybe
a little rhythm
without rhyme,
this poem
found written
now read
by the reader,
enjoyed or not,
are simply
thoughts
that ran down
the page
freely.