I'd Rather
I'd rather write poems
Than clean up my house,
The dust in the corners
Is two inches thick.
The counters are cluttered
The bed is a mess,
The bats in the belfry
Won't leave me alone.
They flit and they flutter,
Make all kinds of noise,
The words they throw out
Just don't seem to rhyme.
Where is my notepad,
Where is my pen,
This thought is so fleeting
It won't last for long.
I'm going to journey
A map work of words,
Hung in my mind
like a vast universe.
Copyright © Chetta Achara | Year Posted 2021
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