The End of a Poem

I sit upon my comfy chair
To type away my time
A press placed here, another there
Form sentences sublime
My fingers start to ache and creak
Yet still I try to find
The perfect words to add to it
A poem by the mind

I have words
But nothing’s working
They turn the rhymes to shambles
I try hard
And nothing’s changing
This thing just seems to ramble

This is a burden I shan’t bear
The poem is not worthy
I’ve typed so long the keys show wear
Although it makes me surly
Perhaps I’ll try another week
By then it should work, surely
Until then I think it fit
To end this poem early

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of the few poems I've ever written, I didn't really stick to any style, I just made the first "stanza" (I think that's the correct name) and tried to go along with it, except for the middle which I put to purposefully disrupt the flow to better emphasis the little "story" of the poem. Took forever to do, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

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jade123's picture

I like this one! Keep

I like this one! Keep writing! ~xkissesx

"For ever on resounding, and knowing nought of time, our laws but catch the music of its eternal chime" - It Sounds Along the Ages by William Channing Gannett