Writer’s Lament

My hesitant Pen—

My master revealed.

Concealed by Precision’s

Most vain appeal.

Here, ought and naught

Dance hand in hand.

Where thoughts elope,

Increasing my debt

And plans divine

Never to test.

The force of an “if”

So latent my strain

Through my pen I won’t lift

I author my pain.

-Ron Renaud