Part I

Sometimes words won't come out,

In my lifeless brain they are stuck,

Like a carriage mired in the muck.

I pray for them to sprout:

Please, words, come to life!!!

Take form and shape, make a story,

With rhythm, rhyme and color rife,

So I can give you glory.

Sometimes inspiration is but fleeting

Like a coy glance from a coquette.

For whose love my soul is pleading,

and otherwise ignores me , I object!.

They dance merrily in my mind,

Beginning one story after another,

But they never finish, never bother,

One moment here, then gone like the wind

Will my words again paper sweetly kiss?

Will they drown in pools of unfulfilled promise?

Or is it that my muse I'll forever miss?

And never again feel inspiration's bliss?

Pedro Marenco

© November 11, 1999

Sacramento, CA