To Sing a Lullaby

June 8, 2014

Such a shame, the existence of the words is lost,

Into depressed poetry, written unclearly.

But I write to me (the few), and for the one (the many)

Who breathes gently, waiting to hear me.

A ghost of the times I suffered through;

I mustn't forget you croaked them too.

Forced into our throats, decency--

Coughed back up, this poetry.

Such a shame, that upon being inspired,

We're just out of luck, as our "genius!" had expired.

Happens all the time.

Anyone can make a rhyme.

And what in the world would it matter

If the better poem isn't the sadder??

Something wrong with this poem?

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