As I write my last my poem <br />For once I have the courage to stand tall <br />Flashback my career as memory recalls <br /> <br />I began writing for fun <br />A melody of rhyme highlighted me gifted <br />When aroused by a concept my words became spirited <br /> <br />This label of talent, unfortunately does not feature <br />Aimed to get respect from my peers, words of encouragement flattered <br />Though to make a sale the public really mattered <br /> <br />I am one of the same like a black tie event <br />This mental pressure to create causes solitude pain <br />A few loyal followers and still no fame <br /> <br />In this creative pool <br />I write a poem at 10.52 <br />Another writes better in a time zone of 8.52 <br /> <br />Contacting publishers they say poetry will not increase their figure <br />This man in a suit cannot even write poem <br />In my mind I believe I have to disown him <br /> <br />I sense I am writing into the wind <br />Thankful comments no longer stir me <br />A stereotypical poet my facial features are surly <br /> <br />Social media profile closes down as I hate looking in the mirror <br />Tweeps message out of care <br />When offline then reality stares <br /> <br />No longer dictated by stanzas <br />I join the dead poets on the wall <br />Rest in peace as my pen falls<br /><br />Louis Cecile<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-poet-on-the-wall/
