Out of Sorts Sonnet

I started trying to write a sonnet
to my chagrin I with failure was met
count as I might never syllables ten
dribbled forth from my silent weeping pen
vagrant pulses fleeting across blank sheets
collide in that realm where everything meets
confusion runs amok blotting out ink
that must finally into paper sink
this battle I swear will end in success
tho’ to some my scribbles may seem a mess
I struggle through this dark and endless night
asking nothing except to win this fight
never prone to gamble I place my bet
I shall complete this out of sorts sonnet

STOPPED

I was stopped by a different train
of thought this past night
while I wondered if or when
I could expect another drink
Maybe I would die of thirst
long before I ever returned
to my once safe haven
where I hope to wake and find
this was just another bad dream

—–Jerry Marks