MY BOOKSIE YEARNINGS

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Have you asked yourself why you are here? I may think you know but then you dont. Have you wondered why you dont get read?

Submitted: March 06, 2007

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Submitted: March 06, 2007

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I be a poet who tries

To bequeath more than times

Passing fancy to verse

Leaving truth to damn farce

When awake at night I lay

Rummaging words to say

Across the blankness of this page

To convey the frankness of joy and rage

I came to your door,

New writer, wordily poor,

To the embrace of Saturday night

At time my vision seem void of might

A dreamer, sleep walking,

Thought comment would come purring

Too hasty to pause, to proof read

Too handicapped to show booksie my bid

Was I not set to pack up?

Did I not call me a f*ck up?

As my foothold seem to hang

On echoes of swan song

Upon this thoughts after wash

Came the eraser to mash

Inadequacies I’d harbored

For loved he a poet who labored

To him, my first fan, I say

Your ode be for another day

When thoughts come to me in bits

And verses comes alive with beats

I stayed, I moved, through heaps and mounds

I grew, I think, in leaps and bounds

From lengthy odes to thought

To ordered lines in verse

I strayed, I think, from my environment

Enmeshed, I feel, by booksie comment

Deaf to my ancestors call I fell

Into the trap of fleshy praise

Now I vow

To hold bay this booksie slide

To say my say no matter

And maybe…just maybe

Become tomorrow’s poet


© Copyright 2018 the Lame One. All rights reserved.

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