The Poet who had Amnesia

Never knew what to say

Couldn't put it down on paper

Wasn't that he didn't know

He was willing to write with flow

But the words wouldn't escape

He didn't know how to relate

Resigned to his fate

In the past what he had written was great

But now words his mind would not escape

He couldn't remember what he had done

Didn't matter whether it was November or December

Could have stressed and almost have a seizure

He wanted to do anything to please you

But didn't know if he was meant to read too

Or just write something about your point of view

Nothing thought that he could be taught

His writing ability was previously widely sought

Now whatever his thoughts are always lost before he thinks of any facts or sorts

His memory has amounted to nought

Everything starts but then anything he says leaves you

Watching this loss most likely grieves you

The poor poet who had Amnesia