A little bit of silliness

I cannot write a short story

I cannot write a short story

without expressing my doubt in me.

So let me say, on page one,

simply to get it over and done:

It was not meant to be, for me,

to be the writer of a short story.

My sentences, which tend to rhyme,

seen together, occupy too little space.

To read they take up little time;

they end before they pick up pace.

I have many ideas that could become great,

but as I recall them I doubt their weight.

Many characters that could become loved;

if only the silent muse so behoved.

Sometimes I feel a breakthrough is near

when my words come out straight and the rhyme disappears.

I get so excited when a character speaks;

when a face forms, and wind blows,

and the rippling echo on water.

So this is a poem; it is my first.

I accept my sad fate, that my stories are cursed.

I will never be known as a short story writer

because rhyme, although pretty, sort of spoils dialogue.