Verse in the Making

I forced my pen to ink those words
That seemed unwilling to appear,
Until they were dragged out of mind
Wrong choice of words? I fear.

Do they convey what was intended?
I doubted from the start,
Whether to release the pent up emotions
Or presenting for the sake of art.

Brainstormed much and pondered deep,
To gain, on them, a firm hold,
It all made sense when gradually
The pattern began to unfold.

The flow sometimes came on smooth
And at times at measured pace;
No easy task it was to fit
The rhymes in their proper place

The surging waves of thoughts
Carry the poet away,
While sometimes he faces writer's block
When muses do not obey.

Every verse that’s writ
Close to his heart he holds,
For it is through the lens of words
The poet presents his world.

These may be but trifle words
That have fallen from my pen,
I'd deem them special, if they find
A place in the hearts of men.