J. Scott Shields

With trembling hands I scribble through the night.
My weary bones pursue the artist’s way;
I fear my words contain more heat than light.

A once-proud soldier aching for a fight
Recalling comrades lost amid the fray.
With trembling hands I scribble through the night.

Many a lass I’ve known with sweet delight,
Their tender hearts my verse had power to sway.
I fear my words contain more heat than light.

Sonnets, ballads, lyrics of lofty height
Reduced to jingles sold for freelance pay.
With trembling hands I scribble through the night.

While corporate jobs conceal my restless plight
Buried beneath a suit of solemn grey,
I fear my words contain more heat than light.

And now at last I see with painful sight
That soon I will return to dust and clay.
With trembling hands I scribble through the night;
I fear my words contain more heat than light.