Poetry Here (Mostly)


My poem got trapped in a Pen.

“Please, Pen, begin to write again.”

 

Snobby as a Fountain, Pen clicked,

“Your rhyme’s not worthy of my ink.”

 

“Release my words on paper here,

it’s not your job to  judge or  jeer.”

 

“Stanzas neither worthy nor sage,

I won’t allow upon a page.”

 

“You’re so old fashioned and cruel,

soon, you’ll be a dry fossilized tool.”

 

With that, I snapped on Pen’s cap,

and moved blank notebook from my lap.

 

Pen’s critique sounded much muter,

when I turned on my computer.

 

But, I feel somewhat frustrated,

poem’s still hidden and hated.

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