I guess it’s too late …. but

I guess it’s too late to be a poet
practice makes perfect
perfect takes time

I can measure a beat
use slant rhyme in plenty
I’m rich in experience, that’s for sure

but I seem to have lost
that belief in myself
the enthusiastic leap of confident youth

too old to go out and brave a stage
too old to expound and rant and rage
i try to capture a quieter truth

my words sit and whisper beside the river
seeing pictures when words are flowing
where it starts and where it goes

I have no way of ever knowing
they come to my heart, pour straight out
in happiness, sorrow, joy and pain

I never mastered the careful edit
or got any credit from publishers
all i do is write and wish

if wishes were transformed into poems
they’d shimmer and shine on every page
and i could write away my age

i wasted time
life got in the way
no point blaming yesterday

I will try until I die
chasing the deadline to the dust
milk is spilt, but I can try