Each time when I attempt to write anew,
I face familiar frightening dependence:
I feel again as if I never knew
How to create a simple rhymed sentence.
I start with one, and then another word,
Awaiting something that could help expressing
The elusive unformulated thought
That calls for realising and caressing.
Constructing lines, replacing, swapping them,
I'm trying to create a smoothen'd flow.
I'm working hard; and when it comes to end,
The thought is born, and words begin to glow.
Yet, when it's finished, I am again in doubt:
What if I'll be unable to shape another thought?
© Valerie Livina