FALTERING

A pale dark sea of deathless prose —
perusal isn’t kind; instead
it feels as if the words are lead.
A trawler full of soggy junk.
A folder burst with story funk.

So maybe it’s not quite despair —
and maybe there’s a passage here
a song that could elicit cheer
a fragile line might seem to sing.
Frail hope enjoys another fling.

The diver still pursues the quest.
Poetics take an eager turn:
the search to salve the savage burn.
But unrequited love despairs
a silent tree falls drowning there.

This too shall pass, goes the refrain —
a writing task anew calls you,
but will the exercise imbue
a tiny morsel of delight
a twinkling star in sea’s black night?

You know it can, it has before.
A falter now is just a stick
its only use to beat you with.
It’s up to you to play the game —
keep going, going, all the same.