Who the hell wants to sift through the muck,
In the darkness, under a severe storm,
Just to find a gem? I surely do not want to,
Nor do I want to listen to all of them,
Those whiny, half grinning knowing more than us,
All those men. You know the stuffy type,
He who can recite all of Shakespeare and Poe,
without fail. The gaudy type, the people us poor folk,
hate. I'm probably all to blame.
I read so many things here at my desk, trying;
Searching for and hoping to find an answer,
In all of my unknowing. I can attest to that,
And be honest in turn of all I'm naive, I can,
Want everything someone else has, but never,
How could I believe? In anything at all, When we all,
We all shall fall like leaves. Enjoy this rambling,
Or enjoy it not. I will not force you to succumb,
Nor conform to all my plots. Not a single one,
But I'm implore you watch, Even those men;
For surely they all will plot.
My day of reckoning shall come, and I'll continue,
Writing these simple words, outlining my agenda,
Failing and succeeding at this game of life, The poet;
the child in me, knows of everything inside my heart.
Treachery is among - death with pen and gun, Run,
not ever again, here I stand when all do come, To smote me,
And my brother upon the black top. Don't look at that watch,
It will tell you of no time, Just prepare for the feast,
Hope it's fine as wine. Poetry. As confusing as I'd like it,
To be - amusing if I thus write it, in a way for you to like it;
Hopefully it's understood, then it all is good, All in all,
I think this spending of time was good.
Poem of the Day - The Conundrum of Venus and Mars
Poem of the Day - Writing Home
Poem of the Day - Before the Speech
Poem of the Day - Kiss Me
Poem of the Day - I Wonder Of Days To Come
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