Poetry in the Morn'

This morning is a trial to stir my soul

My hunger for finding a simple stanza is untold.

Sipping the richness in my mug brings little comfort

To the struggles of being an infant poet. 

Inspiration has left me lying on my back

With a concussion and both eyes swollen black.

The keyboard is exasperated with all my undoings

And has frozen the page against all my improving.

Possible failure fills my imagination

And launches a desperate deep-diving expedition!

Into the heart, my searching goes

Where I read every scrap of unfinished verse and prose!

 Some words are sweet and others gash deeply.

And others are stopped by filters of polite speaking.

Flowery scrolls surround the page borders

Which adds nothing to my lack of rhyming words. 

The deadline is a maximum of three days

But, nothing I write is worthy of being on the page! 

Writer's block is winning the fight!

I need some inspiration to bring back the light!!

But, wait! I remember a gift from a birthday past

That had been locked behind a golden clasp.

I saw how it shone in the light of the morning,

Yes! The pen of master writers was the answer for me! 

The quill was silver and the ink was dark 

The paper was ready for the tool to mark. 

Disregarding the draft, I have to begin anew

This poem will be finished before the morning is through! 

Warm rays danced across my back and shoulders

As I wrote swifter, better than I ever did before!

There was joy in my mind as the verses flowed! 

And by the sunlight, they were shining gold!

At last! It was complete and ready for submission

 It was beautiful, beyond original recognition!

Pride fills my body as I send it online

And rest my cramped fingers for a time.