One Word

It has been very difficult for me to write, lately. Part of the trouble is a lack of time; I meant to set aside an hour or two each day of Lent to write, but that has periodically fallen by the wayside in the crush of everyday. I still manage to fit in a bit, and sometimes more, here and there, but I know it is not enough, and I work to improve on that every chance I get. The real problem, however, is that I know I must write, whether or not I am inspired - this is the essence of the reality of writing, as opposed to the insipid dream of writing - but the longer I spend between productive evenings, the more difficult it becomes to make use of the time I have. And yet, however painful it becomes, and however much my muse seems to fail me, I will continue to write. I realize, now, that this is where my true desire lies, and no number of fruitless hours spent before an empty computer screen can ever measure up to the possibility of the beauty I am beginning to see. Also, it does not help that my comma key has begun acting up. Who would have thought that such a little piece of plastic could become such an insurmountable frustration? So here's a little, one-verse poem. It took far longer than it should have to write, but it says what I feel, and what more can I ask?

One Word

A single word is worth a thousandfold,

that doze upon the page in disbelief,

when labored forth in blood and sweat to hold

the quiet heart that quickens underneath.