Anger Now Snapped The Pencil
As Frustration Had Tried, Yet Again, And Again.
Temptation To Abort, Any Further Thought,
Died, In The White Knuckles
Of A Stubborn Clenched Fist.
New Pencils (Only Need Sharpening)
Languished Leaden In A Computer Top, Jar.
A Razor-Like Edge, Now Strokes The Soft Wood,
And Crafts To A Needle Point.
A New Line Of Verse Appears, With Letters
As Wispy As A Spiders Leg.
The Second Line, Stops Halfway.
Broken Pencils And Slithers Of Wood
Now Litter The Promise Of Art
Surely, One Of Them Must Work