Poem; What it feels like.

Rejected is a word I know so well,
From publishers' who don't know
The hell, of receiving their letter,
Couldn't they say something better?
All through the long years, I
Have cried many tears, then,
Picked myself up off the floor,
To face more of the same.
Every book I write takes
Long hours to write, and
Each time I say " this is the
One", so it is no fun, being
Rejected. I have been so near,
And yet so far, my guiding
Star deserting me.
My mother always said,
"You have a vivid imagination,"
Maybe she could see, writing
Books was for me. History,
Love, and so much more,
Millions of words, pour from
My brain, in an effort,
To achieve that best-seller.
I don't want money, I have
Enough, or fame, Or any
Other stuff, I just want
You, and You, and You,
To read my books, so that I can
Succeed with my ambition,
Before it is too late,
And I leave for heaven's gate.

Augustine Nash.