Again, it’s time to put it to the page
(She always pulls me up short;
Her invisible hand be-stills my pen.)
The red stop-sign springs up in front of my face—
my raging critic reminds me once again,
that I won’t amount to much
(and half my life is done).
Time is running out,
yet I let it waste away—
the days come to nothing.
My mediocrity has me on the rack;
it twists and turns me ‘til I crack.
I want to make a comeback,
but I was never on top to begin with.