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Poem

Poem
Poet
They don’t always match
It is not exact
I mean, opposites attract
Every brand new batch
Of poems can detract
From the original, not intact
The idea that did hatch
May not become tact
The meaning now abstract
But I guess that is the catch
When you make a pact,
Or rather a devil’s contract
To somehow patch
The little compact
Of inspiration, from which you distract
Yourself from your detach
That cut you off mid act
You try to reenact
And reattach
Disregarding the fact
That you were the one to subtract
Actual creativity to snatch
At the chance to transact
Quality to make an impact
But it all went down the latch
I guess all it did was counteract
Your initial goal, inexact
From the world, you unattach
And live on in redact
With no one to interact
Forever to be a mismatch

Written on December 3, 2020

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