The Would-be Poet (as a young man)
His hand trembles when he commits
words to the page. Hand on heart
he hopes his poetry befits
the rigours of an art
where victory is tortuously won.
Perpetually assailed
by doubts, he knows reason
can never be prevailed
upon to forbear
the rescuing of his befuddled youth
and the magic to be discovered there.
Camouflaged in myth, words guard truth
in inviolable secrecy:
“Not all can know what it is to write and to be free.”