What is in a poem?
I've oft' asked myself,
Over a thousand I've written,
I brood on this thought,

Is it perhaps a diagram,
A portal in which to delve,
So many questions unspoken,
The cure to mental drought,

I write some for them,
I write more for myself,
Yet when I see this page again,
I question the purpose wrought,

So tell me dear reader,
Do I write for you?
Or do I write for me,
As I struggle to express my views appropriately,

My nights are long,
My days longer,
To some it would seem I seek only shelter,
From a diabolical world,
That looks to unfurl,
Some untold danger upon our heads,
Amidst my delusion I wonder when it will end.What is in a poem?

I've oft' asked myself,
Over a thousand I've written,
I brood on this thought,

Is it perhaps a diagram,
A portal in which to delve,
So many questions unspoken,
The cure to mental drought,

I write some for them,
I write more for myself,
Yet when I see this page again,
I question the purpose wrought,

So tell me dear reader,
Do I write for you?
Or do I write for me,
As I struggle to express my views appropriately,

My nights are long,
My days longer,
To some it would seem I seek only shelter,
From a diabolical world,
That looks to unfurl,
Some untold danger upon our heads,
Amidst my delusion I wonder when it will end.