So you think you are a poet?
You can make two verses rhyme.
You are giddy and you’re singing.
And you’re happy all the time.
You think you are a poet?
You think the world is yours?
You think the sun is shining,
Through perpetually open doors?
I’ll tell you something fellow,
Before you’ve gone too far;
Before you are committed,
Before your soul you mar;
Poetry is awful,
It’s reflecting on the past,
It’s peering in the future,
It’s the storm before the mast.
It is wading in new waters,
They are murky and they’re black;
And the tide will draw you under.
And you’ll never more look back.
It’s reliving your past failures.
It’s hoping you are sane.
Poetry is suffering,
Poetry is pain.
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