fool of a poet

the times I've been here, words in hand mind-sculpting verse of phrases, grand that speak of that, the cruelest school those moments, rife, I've played a fool ... laid bare this soul, with one broad knife sweet dreams of romance, love and life my heart bled, staining some girl's feet whose care for me was ne'er as sweet ... and shared in poems for worlds to read midst hopes they might just fill a need while all I've done, with sheet and pen is prove I'm that damned fool ... again ... the deepest feelings - spilled for those I loved and lost, who thumb their nose at odes brought forth, or all such gems so polished smooth with tears, for them ... it's always me, this pining schmuck that's tumbled down on lover's luck now writing chiseled stanzas, meant for some fair lass whose love I spent ... why won't the sweetest phrase impart some love to make those longings start for ME, this fool with chances, slim ... some sweet girl writes a poem ... for HIM?