When I was young I used to read the famous poems The Classic poems, all full of Meter and rhyme. Sonnet, Lyric, Blank Verse and more. And I would scribble my words Hiss in pain Throw them away. I am not a poet, although I work in words, in truth. I write Fiction and essays and email. The essential unknown does not Flow through my pen. I am Too prosaic for that. Yet I sit here, quiet, but Mind like monkey still And I wonder why I try. I am not those whom I read Classic or amateur. I wonder What opiate allows them to publish These frail bits. For me, I climb up and fall off this cliff Because I no longer care.