Friends may praise my work but are they just being kind?
Strangers may be critical, perhaps harshly I find.
When I think of all the blood that has been shed in the name of poetry.
Well not actual blood of course
Not much, as such.
But the stress and pain caused by fear of rejection.
The complete deselection of your collection
Well not actual stress or pain
But the sleepless nights trying to make a rhyme work.
Not complete nights without any sleep
But the ever present weight on the mind ever tightening
Never lightening
Well not a great weight but it never goes away
It’s not always there of course but it can impact on your day
Not every day no, but it can give you worrying moments
Not many though.
Curious Vision of an Old Bloke in Prison 