BEYOND THE BLANK PAGE

Screech Screech the pencil sounded, As he drew, through the night's dark shroud, His plans: to take a leaf out of Virgil's ancient page, To wield the pen of Robert Frost, William Blake, John Keats' poetic stage, His age brought countless discouragements, Fueling his inner rage, Defeatism loomed, his greatest foe to amass. But he still wrote, his determination unbound, Refusing to yield, his spirit unbroken, his heart unbound. Left to him alone, All these are his stepping stones, His ultimate stepping stones to triumph.