to the self councious writer, i feel for you
always fearing the worst of your work
to let the world know seems so wrong to do
keeping them in the shadows to lurk
you are the only critic, or so it seems,
for everyone else praises your pen's trail
but can they be right, can you reach your dreams
or will you drop off, fall, and fail
thoughs of both verdict fill your head
drowning your mind in their dark abyss
feeling so heavy, eyes made of lead
dreams caress you with their icy kiss
just don't give up, for whatever the end
whether it be a success or it be grim
emotions spilling around the endless bend
lifting your heavy heart with every uplifting hymn