Six Lousy Syllables

Six Lousy Syllables
Is all I get to use
To fill each line; Oh why
Must I be so restrained?

The whiteness of the page;
It's bright bleached fibres shine
An empty page; Perhaps
'Tis why French call white "blanc".

The silence deafens me,
"You can't fill me!" it screams.
"It's mocking me!" I cry
At it's unhearing mass.

In furor I arise
And grab the page on ends
A raging soul; Nearly
Tear I the page in half

When suddenly appears
A smile that's e'er so sly;
The sheet falls down; Now I
Seek more sweeter revenge.

My hand picks up the pen,
With haste the words pour forth,
Imagery flows; See now
The metaphors flooding.

And before the clock chimes,
My homework is complete
A vict'ry jump; Thank God,
For once, I'll get some sleep!

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