Little Poet
The writings of an amateur,
Is far behind those of a professional,
Lacking substance and without conviction,
The fear of being rejected; longing to be accepted.
Inspiration is something that cannot be bought,
Experience is another that can never be taught,
Lost along the way, clueless of what to say,
Just holding on to a pen, allowing it to guide my hand.
A good-for-nothing slave i am,
Not much of a use compared to that of a piece of ham,
Laughing at myself as I wrote these words down,
Feeling blue just like an ugly clown...
Fellow poets, please guide me and show me the way,
In future a smooth path for me will then be laid...
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