How Pensive the Poet
How pensive the poet who writes by the pen
The stubbornness found in the gender of men
The tortured young male who lives in the past
Who probably purchased some “white-out” at last
You probably think when you suffer and ache
That writers improve when they make a mistake
The point of it all is the point of a pen
The perfect excuse to start over again
The pencil is easy when you need a fix
The rubber you rub at the end of your sticks
But writing a poem is the path to your soul
A promise you make when you practice control
A fine type of writer would probably do
When pounding the keys in a minute or two
But doing the laundry is no fitting muse
For penning a poem in the color of hues
The keyboard is key to the ease of your use
I choose it myself when I shun the abuse
The poem that you get is a fine work of art
A triumph of love when you aim for the heart.
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