A fool lost in the words
Faced with bullets and tests,
With naught but rhymes about birds.
It really seems impossible to help best,
With only vocabulary upon one’s tongue.
What worth do pantoums and sonnets
Bear? When the young are left to hung
Tied undone with branches their bonnets.
What appeasement does alliteration bring?
If my time is up, and this plane goes down.
Not much as it would seem, but to words I cling
For who would I be if not the rhyming clown;
And for how much they seem not to notice me,
Poets belong in poetry.