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fool of a poet
the times I've been here, words in hand
mind-sculpting verse of phrases, grand
that speak of that, the cruelest school
those moments, rife, I've played a fool ...
laid bare this soul, with one broad knife
sweet dreams of romance, love and life
my heart bled, staining some girl's feet
whose care for me was ne'er as sweet ...
and shared in poems for worlds to read
midst hopes they might just fill a need
while all I've done, with sheet and pen
is prove I'm that damned fool ... again ...
the deepest feelings - spilled for those
I loved and lost, who thumb their nose
at odes brought forth, or all such gems
so polished smooth with tears, for them ...
it's always me, this pining schmuck
that's tumbled down on lover's luck
now writing chiseled stanzas, meant
for some fair lass whose love I spent ...
why won't the sweetest phrase impart
some love to make those longings start
for ME, this fool with chances, slim ...
some sweet girl writes a poem ... for HIM?
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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