To blog this unfamiliar way is strange.

To blog this unfamiliar way is strange.
I write, I read, delete, and write again.
My thoughts run far ahead of what I type.
It maketh writing labored, slow, and spare.
In tight embrace of words my thoughts are pack'd.
My blogging friends, I hear your pain -- and sigh.

You swim a lap or lift a weight or sprint
but not because the pain that comes is fun.
A runner stopped her feet, strap'd weights around,
and thencefrom bounded slower, being bound.

When blank verse day is done, we'll all be train'd.
We'll write more freely, having been constrain'd.