My next freeverse poem:

I can’t find the right words,
Freeverse beckons…
Beckons with open arms,
I cannot resist no more,
Having struggled for long,
Trying to weld verses with what I have,
Tools of brilliance faded,
A forger who once molded magic
Now a failure, a feckless fool…

My workshop forged fantasies,
Masterpieces worthy of applause,
Tools toiled as ticked time,
Guided by mystic muses,
As hammered words into order,
The sound of the crackling fire,
The sound of lines chained together
Was music to my ears.

Now I sit in disbelief,
Amidst a clutter of meaningless words,
Trying to shape form from chaos,
Failing to generate rhymes,
Meet syllabilic demands,
Of poetry I once excelled at,
Now seems a far fetched fantasy,

Can’t spin no more yarn
To bind stanzas that speak meaning,
The spinning wheel has stopped,
Won’t weave no more fabric
Bland ordinary and tasteless,
Discarded at first sight,
An abomination of a creation.

I can’t solve this puzzle of poetry,
Freeverse beckons…
Formless, yet fantastic,
Rhythmless,yet musical,
Chaotic, yet beautiful.

-The Forgers of Fantasy

For more such poems,refer The Forgers of Fantasy