I wonder why some poems
flounder and some poems fly.
I do not cry, or ponder to long,
for to write simply for others
somehow seems wrong.
I've written many lines
that will never see the light of day,
not that their better or worse
than those on display.
Their just a piece of me I'm not ready to give away.
I know that notion may seem obscene,
what could he possibly be hiding
that we haven't yet seen?
I can assure you in the grandest scheme of things
my skeletons are few,
But shouldn't a poet always hold
at least one secret
or maybe even two?
I've heard of writers and musicians who have died
only to have their families release books and songs after their gone
in a desperate cash grab.
Most of the stuff is not very good or unfinished, there was a reason
the artist hadn't released it.
Jim Morrison and the Beatles come to mind.
Makes me glad I'm not famous LOL