Masterpieces Come Hard
The beginning of my writing, way back then
before electronic technology intervened,
made me feel I was born with a golden pen,
now I see my wordplay on a monitor screen.
My hands hover over this magical keyboard,
the one that sparks my words magnetic.
Fingers rising and falling of their own accord,
manic motion, hell-bent, quite frenetic.
The connection's hardwired to my mind's eye,
through a conduit, most filter free.
The flowing is colored by concepts, avidly wry,
be it a thrust at love or curbed enmity.
Stylings may engender an attitudinal leaning
gathered up in wordy confluence.
Message and image often spiral, careening,
seeking clarity or, at the least, temperance.
Syllabic adherence is a foreign concept,
for my ear has it's own built in beat.
The fall of the stress points somehow crept
to the fingers, my eruptions entreat.
Here I sit with a bristling intention to write
a masterpiece on the grandest of scales.
Could this be the moment on this very night
when a lyric minnow swims with whales?
But if the tides flow too strongly against me
and tonight my masterpiece is not due,
I embrace open-eyed resignation quite wistfully,
I'll post this endeavor for your review.
Submitted for the Brain Tease challenge
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