Delivery at Last

Patience escapes my mental grasp
as I struggle with how to phrase a line
and speak a word to do the task
of telling a tale from this heart of mine.

I search for the rhythm fitting the scheme
and the sound and flow of the piece.
Sometimes my labor invokes a loud scream
when pressure begins to increase.

I count and I measure each line, each verse
as I read the rules of the form.
Sometimes the changes sound so much the worse,
like thunder before the real storm.

Desperate for rhyme that will fill the need,
I click into the rhyme zone site.
I will take a word from the ones I read
to see if it might fit just right.

On and on I pursue like a bloodhound
on the trail that is growing cold.
I bark and I howl at every new sound
that doesn't quite get my tale told.

Here is the end of this little ditty.
My mind is quite weary and worn.
For my trials, I am not seeking pity
as this poem has now been born.

Copyright  © May 5, 2006 by Karen M. Crump