Shakespeare Be Damned
I’m sick of wanderin’ o’er the page
In search of distant, mystic sage
muttered manta that confuse
stupefy my stoic muse
torment the silence of the keys
while in the distance Shakespeare flees
to curse his feather blotted ink
his red, red rose now turning pink
yet still I sit behind the veil
challenge him and always fail
there are those who disagree
some say he wasn’t one, but three
conspiring in mock defiance
of poetry’s inane compliance
counting syllables and rhymes
that challenged then, the present times
and yet I steal a line or two
in vain attempt to make it new
to think, somehow, it glorifies
the master when I plagiarize
John G. Lawless
©9/23/2022
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