Listen You Might Just Hear

You can conjure up a smile I freeze dry my tears You can go back in time I skip forward a few years You can raise the dead I hunted them with spears You can shock to life I might stand clear You can hit the brakes I go through the gears You can break a leg I excelled in the drear You can be circumspect I prefer the linear You can hobble and hide I keep enemies near You can be conventional I changed to nuclear You can deplore my methods I see the pretext of fear You can pen free verse I hold rhyme so dear You can eulogise Poe I whisper this to his ear In the end nothing matters Poetry won, or so it appears By David Kavanagh