‘’Love, don’t let it fade.’’ It's an encouraging request, 

and who am I, denying it? Relent - what I do best 

and nod a bit, and smile a bit, and give my very word 

that I'll continue writing, won't deflate you. Think I heard 

a stirring of false promises from back there in my head - 

but nothing worth examining. We’ll focus then instead 

on making up a story, something never seen before - 

it’s going to be beautiful, departure from the form 

and everything that makes it. I will pen a new cliche, 

and looking then will tell them that I didn’t let it fade 

 

So why are words not coming? There’s my head, and there’s a page 

but without a thing to link them. And I’m surely at a stage 

where these things should all be working. Rather doubt blank pages sell 

there's something burning brightly, they all say - I can’t quite tell 

if there’s anything at all in there. The spark is all used up, 

but the spark - I think - is all I have. Get by with that and luck 

and everything just sort of works? And falls out into place 

pentameter, most usually, but who am I to chase 

a different sort of meter when I don’t know where to start - 

I’m relying on a less-than-understanding of this art - 

and where, then, does it leave me? When it leaves me - if it was - 

ever here, that is, in earnest, and they weren't confused or crossed 

with blithe and bullish certainty. I hate to disappoint, 

but nothing's really special here: no reason to anoint 

my brain as bearing something that's a fire to be fed - 

there's better pyres out there, better warm to them instead 

of this iambic rambling. I fear their love's misplaced, 

and much more sure than I am that there's something to be shaped 

from all of this. Emerge now, words: be nonsense, please, just be - 

and spark or not, I'll try it out. I'll write. And fade? We'll see. 

 

Cheers for reading! Any feedback much appreciated :)