In between a state of existence and non existence
I pick up my pen and write
What do I want from myself?
What do I want to write?
Do I write for myself?
Or do I write for you?
Do I write on love, anguish or philosophy?
Or do I write sometyhing new?
Do I open up my heart?
Or do I write about the fart?
Do I rhyme?
Or be just sublime?
The clock is ticking by
Havnt even started to write
Will I be ripped apart?
Will I get a good start?
Will I get a few tens?
Or a dozen hens?
Will you be able to sing with me?
Or read my lines and just flee?
Will I be able to give you a smile?
Or put a frown on you for a while?
Will my writing be called pure?
Or some might call it obscure?
And then
Guess what? ? ? ?
Oh my God! ! !
Ooooowannnnnnn! ! ! !
My baby's crying....
And my not yet emerged poem is dying! ! !
To hell with the poem! !
I go flying! ! ! ! !

Renu Rakheja a.k.a Tranquil Ocean

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/l-9-my-baby-oh-my-god/