The Question of a Poem

The Question of a Poem?
Why must I suffer over its content day and night?
Does it need a deep meaning for which the reader must dig?
Or can it be light and cheery? A real simple gig.
Can I even write? The writer has wondered.
And for the reader will my words be discovered?
Will they call me laureate and throw flowers at my feet?
Is the poem going to end in the poet's utter defeat?
What does it take to grasp that great vine?
Of matching and rhyming words until they sound fine.
Oh the sweat on my brow! The emotional stress!
I’m tempted to make this simple. I know! I just won’t call it my best.
I’ll run to the fridge, have some chocolate cake!
I’ll go out to the yard and pick up a rake!
Anything at all is better than this!
But, the success of a good poem is personal bliss.
No not always easy, and sometimes not fun.
Always rewriting and hardly ever done.
A failed chance to speak? A great piece of art?
Either way it will leave a tear in my heart.