I crossed out the words so many times
and flipped the page over
to start fresh on new lines.
A poem about things
is too general it seems
and doesn’t hit home
but is more like internet memes.
A laugh from the back
and a vacant stare
are all I could win
with words written so bare.
I can’t let it out
but I can’t keep it in
so where do I stand
to hide from the Devil’s grin?
This brief candle
has been flickering all too long
just holding out,
hoping the Scot was wrong.
The sound and fury
have overstated their stance
by this fool of a woman
who has wasted every chance.
It’s true that this tale
needed desperately to be told,
but if no one will listen
it’s soon tainted with mold.
The hour is up
and the crowd must go home
since there is no significance
to an unread poem.
Autumn Siders 