Uneducated Pen

Sinister intentions are met with solitude A ghastly grin greets the grimy windows And who knows where the words will begin But we all know they'll end in some awful rhyme So forced and juvenile we'll be shaking our heads And clucking our teeth in frustration At the pretentiousness of it all And for every tower a writer builds He feels he'll never fall from his bloated heights Where he looks down And sees those far more talented than he Perhaps this fills him with anger A seething heat that boils his blood Or maybe he seeks opportunity in the words of the wise And begins the ungraceful fall off his perch Perhaps one is lost in some misguided arrogance Even as they reject the notion of possessing skill And there is a fleeting moment before hitting the ground Where the writer should realize his place He's nothing more than a mere mortal And his fatal flaw is believing in his written word And believing that such an unpracticed poet Could stand next to the likes of Poe For he is a walking fallacy So conceited in his desire to write That he often abandons the written word Believing the words will come when they come And until then his thoughts will languish As he sucks the fruits of yesterday's labor He's nothing more than a glorified failure Who never amounted to anything more Than a seething high school bleeding heart With words that followed no form With stanzas that rejected common sense With cliche tacked on to cliche With aspirations of grandeur He's just the feeding fodder For those who give him the mercy Of observing his written word And giving him a reluctant pat on the back Even while preparing the guillotine The truth is that he is a masochist Sifting through painful verse time and again Hoping that something will stick Just hoping he'll find the words When all too often they reject him For deep down he is truly ambitious But he has no dedication to the craft His pen is a half a stroke away from retirement