I\'m pondering the ratio
betwixt meaninglessness and art,
and if the canon\'s afterglow
is but a trail of bleeding hearts
composing the best-seller charts.
In a vast ocean of spilled ink
I muse, \"To write or not to write?\"
My verse, beguiled by overthink
and anxious, plageristic blight,
as righteous inner critics fight.
I feel I have something to say
amid the supressed joy and rage,
though sometimes thick ink fades away
to stain the heart of my blank page,
I have prosaic wars to wage.