A Poet's Clouded Fears
Sometimes I am blessed with a curse
For I wake from my dreams
Lost in a verse
The lines and rhymes
Play out like crimes
Rehearsing themselves
As to be news from the Times
Over and over
Like a bad dream
In a peculiar scheme
Trying to move my lips
To speak
But it’s effortlessly bleak
There’s something that grips
My mouth shut
But what
Becomes of my aching head
When I don’t feel rested
When I wake my bed
Could it be a poet’s lunacy?
That shall turn me to illiteracy?
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