Get Your Premium Membership


AVERAGE In artistic pursuits, he might indulge, But to excel , he makes the weakest budge. Leaving everything half baked and rushed, But leaving nothing untouched. He might not top the race Lest no sweat will he waste. He wont scurry past as the last number, With fluke he is rendered to pass, This jack of all trades, Mastered the average. Mediocrity became accepted, as a state of being not too good, yet good. And there came many hills, in his way Conquering without fear, With every climb, tumbled on a stone That was labeled – average.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.