Hunger Words

I admire authors

they cradle their creations

like newly-born babies,

proud parents swaddling offspring.

I am consigned to be childless

lacking both the discipline

to birth a book, or

the ability to devise

one compelling storyline.

I am Tantalus, thwarted

forever dissatisfied,

my heart’s desire

perpetually out of reach

starved of literary sustenance.

So I make do

with these crumbs of verse

sprinkled before me,

such minute tasty morsels

that when laboriously gathered up

do not make a hearty meal,

so I sit and I starve.

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/2021