A Poem for the Unpoetical

A Poem for the Unpoetical

Beyond rhyme or reason lies the abecedarian.

* * *

Can one person sell skeptics a poem?

Don’t tell me that it can’t be done.

Every reader likes to experiment now and then,

For what is life without spiciness

Going down our throats like a pebble, even if it’s

Hard for us to swallow?

* * *

I don’t know where I’d be without words

Jumping me from story to story, even

Knowing that my life’s chapter will end too soon.

Long after I’ve dipped my final pen and

Made my escape,

No matter how many words I’ve written

On the page, there will still be tales left untold,

Poems unsung, a life of creation

Quietly disappearing without fanfare.

* * *

Rather than dwell on morbid musings, I will

Shout from the rooftops all my

Thoughts today, and let loose what I need to say,

Until the heavens ring with the

Very essence of what it means to be a

Writer, a poet, a scribbler of tales, a

Xennial whose generation will one day be gone.

You see, when my time comes, there will be

Zero stories I regret telling, especially since they’ll outlast me.