The Struggling Poet

Introduction

            I write poems, I am a wizard.  You may see me while at home or out for dinner.  What ever the case I can not stop, it is prison.  Just like beautiful music, it is an addiction.

Savage

            The poet types, "Then the lasers, oh what a fright, a scary dream, yet no waking up at midnight screaming.  It was real I do now see."  Oh no, my mom is yelling at me.

            Shall I continue, it is getting late while sitting here on my bed thinking, contemplating… photograph… YES, hesitate.

            What am I scheming inside of my brain?  Oh, for shame, for shame…

It is getting dark and loneliness sets in with the falling stars… do not hesitate, it is getting too, so very, no, too late.  (I am still in mind or so I think it may be in the poem itself)

            Perhaps some water my engine needs, maybe.  The poet drinks Ha, ho, what glorious, no drastic change.  For how shall he know what I am doing or she know my thoughts… Just a dream… perhaps, only a mere dream.  But this water is graaavy!

            (If I have not lost you, turn the page)

Confidant

            Oh my friend my eyes go weak, but not now, only tired now.  My eyes, they join by body, my brain.  Can our minds be violent with out video game?  (I think so)

            But you, reader, you are the one I gear to (at least for now, before I do not know). Yes; now what, what are you thinking? -Pause-

Break

            If you have not paused, you must, for your mind is black, I rather it be rainbow.  (That is my point for poetry, ironic, ha ho, ha ho)

Relapse

            Prison I mentioned before, but now I use the letters, (in English, our language) to mean a different thing.  Do you get what I am conceiving?

People, people, people…

            We use confusion even when we speak.  Was that a result from our thought or is our language the cause of our awkwardness.

            I leave you on that thought, no pause, but leave.

-Stephen G. T.