It's not easy to write a Poem,
Like with clay,
You mold and feel your way,
Towards the final Sculpture,
That you hope will,
Eventually help you capture,
And bring dismay and rapture,
To the hearts of those who may,
Perhaps, read you, Someday.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this poem even though I can't entirely identify with it. Somehow it seems in the poem that writing is a kind of struggle - molding and feeling your way... Writing poems comes as easily to me, as picking up a pen, turning on the music and writing for hours on end. Don't even have any thoughts beforehand, I just start writing and continue until I'm done. It's a feeling I get inside telling me, that's all for now. That's about the only way I know how to explain it. Continually enjoy reading your poetry, always look forward to it. RoseAnn