A Poem About Writing Poems
Each of my poems, after all, is naught but a bunch of words that got
Splattered on a page, then cleverly rearranged,
To express a thought, of love, of hope, or rage,
By the Muse, that is my poets mind engaged.
With commas-and dashes-and that sort of thing
Inserted to make the selected words ring,
And where I thought they might, hopefully, fit
to match my meaning and my, wit?
So after the words have exited my pen,
They sit holding meanings that perfectly blend
with the others on each line.
And they wait so very patiently to be read, by you, in time,
And if, by chance, the meanings contained
by the words I’ve written, dutifully in lines,
Should elicit some emotion or thought from deep within your mind,
Then my effort was not wasted but has attained the sublime!
And these humble words that I have penned
Have done their job, they have met their end,
Transmitting a thought across the vastness of space and time,
And hopefully, through it all, the little buggers rhymed!