Real Thing, Real Me

They say love is the reason for poetry, but that only tells a part of the story—love is also heartbreak, and so is poetry. Sometimes a poet finds themself Flowing wing at the precipice of that next Full thought, that next step or line that will make the whole make sense, that will make that poem a magnum opus. You dream about this your entire life, you watch as others seem to find their words, but suddenly... flatness. Silence.. An absence of rhyme....or rhythm...theme? So you step away, which is fine. It may go in the drawer, the bin, you may even set it aflame. But whatever the outcome of any single poem, the single poet will go on....and she will find her words again. enjoy.