Inheritance

 

My brain, my own life inherited

Is littered with rhyme and intent

To write stories divine and tragic

And more, poetic masterpieces

But as I try the thoughts go by

And becoming annoyed that nothing

Is portrayed on the page, nothing

The obstacles of organization

Committing to skills to make thrills

The fingers can't lick the words

Meaningful verses are unheard

By the audience, only the audience

Of a separate plane relish, enjoy

And take the sharing in refrain

That my world is whirled severely

And the art of articulating is

Entirely encumberant of its visage

 

 

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allets's picture

Masterpieces?

I think I write one pretty good poem occasionally, when I write the nasterpiece, I'll let ya know :)