I write because I am dying
I write because I am free
I compose some prose
But I suppose
That this is the end of the sea
I feel my work is dying
That nothing left inside
A few works come out flying
But none that really reside
In the heart
I write because I want to live
I write because I hope to see
But in the end
I find my friend
Deceit is hard to flee
So does this meter matter?
This rhyme of no great stature
It doesn't even flatter
Or bring about great rapture
To the heart
I write to let flow this emminence
I write for no better recouse found
A second chance
To join the dance
Spread my gifted self around
I cannot clap my own applause
I try but miss my own two hands
An ackward momentary pause
With the stilling of unseen bands
Within my very heart

08/21/2003

Author's Note: not happy with this. the last couple poems of mine have sucked in my opinion. maybe i have fooled myself this whole time. no greatness sitting in the stands wating to come out and play.

Posted on 08/21/2003
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