This is a work for the tome
it's publication now foretold
in distant days beyond the now
holding scratchings frowned upon
collection made of muttered thoughts
each alone is not enough
to count as authoring to the ones
those arbiters of writer's charm
depending on a word count
this measure slams stanza's breadth
crafted for a wry intent
now damned against the yardstick
critics rally to critique
still I'll pen another poem
the muse demands a sacrifice
a book waiting in future time.
© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20190618.
A meaningful and though provoking poem throwing light on the anxiety of a poet/ writer to see his works printed in a book form and prolonged wait for the same.10 points.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well written poem, sir Sean.....10++++++++++++