I write as a poet in numerous styles:
some sonnets and odes and unmetered's I've tried.
my poems reflect things that inflict my life,
so romances as now are just what feels right.

But for some odd reason I just feel like writing
a random dailogue with many thoughts flying.
Maybe a monologue or soliloquy to fit
a play I could be writing instead of this.

However, you see, once again meter changes
as time passes by and then itself reaches
father still for the depths of my mind
with hope for little else but to find.

A poet always seems to have life bad:
working alone and writing the sad,
often as hopeless as they are romantic
and rooted in their imaginations fantastic.

So many suppose that the users of pen
can fall down straight back just to write up again,
but a poet can fall just as hard with his pen
as a weightlifter with his dumbells can.

Poets aren't always intelligent
or capable of remembering where their mind went,
but poets and writers and playwrights alike
have the greatest minds of all mankind.

To put imagination down in form of words;
the greatest philosophies could be heard
if the thinkers throughout all history
had learned to use a pen, like we.

But sadly such is not the case.
Many thoughts and minds have gone to waste,
and it all boils down to the pride of men-
when he thinks to control what another can.

Restricting the profound to learn to write
and telling them what is wrong and right,
depriving them of the truth of their practice,
destroying the true from of poetry's lattice.

Killing these abilities can end prematurely
thoughts with the power to save us surely
from ourselves before the end,
but instead we are doomed to try to begin.