THE POET'S CURSE II - SELF-DOUBT

I sit here in this attic room
I strive to write, I'm struck by gloom;
With self-doubt I ceaseless wrest
To know I'll never be the best.

Words and thoughts rise in my head,
They must be writ, they must be said;
Though my best I do employ
My writing brings me little joy.

I type the lines upon the screen
I read them back, myself demean;
My mind and heart in fierce debate
Can I be pleased with second rate?

Yet is it all about who's best
An endless race, a lifelong test?
How do I find the strength to be
A writer writing just for me?

To self-doubt I'll have to say,
Please be gone, be on your way;
To write because I know I can
To be the best no more my plan.

I sit here in this attic room
I love to write, the page illume;
With self-doubt I yet may fight
It will not blunt my right to write.

COPYRIGHT DM PAMMENT FEBRUARY 25th 2010