1.
I am enduring
the poet’s hell,
as I attempt to construct verse
in the unattainable form
of Wordsworth.

2.
It’s laughable really:
How time and again
I suppose my work
is like that (even a smidgeon)
of Poe’s.

3.
“Your voice!” my mind shouts.
“You must find your voice!”
But my true voice is lost
in the brilliant sea
of the Great Lyricists.

4.
Tennyson, Blake, Angelou;
I’ve tried them all,
like sampling every flavor
in a creative ice cream shop.
How sad.

5.
But one day, I will
wake up and there
will be my voice. My true voice.
Ringing loud, clear, and sarcastically
in my head:

6.
“Find a different passion!”