In days of yore I always longed
to be a tortured poet true,
suff'ring, stark 'neath skies of blue,
alone and heartsick, bright yet wronged,
toying with a language pronged
by contrasting Me and You,
and your ever-present crew-
you are by greener pastured thronged
Yet solitude can be a friend,
I realized 'neath my Bodhi tree,
and anguish no necessity;
Inspiration has no end.
Melancholy won't wring free
the poetry that time will send.
well done
The rhyme and meter are great. perhaps a second look at Stanza 2 line 2. consider ( if you will ) punctuating "realized" in the same manner as you did 'neath. Bravo on the insight and knowledge than went into this piece. Well done!