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