I’m sorry
if I’m a little lost
when the mind is free
the body follows at a cost
till you’re broke and can’t pay
the soul is stolen away
leaving the shell of a ghost

Forgive me
if I’m a little used
when you’re careless
you casually bruise
till you’ve bled no more
have no life to pour
the spirits withered
and abused

My apology
for being a mess
when what’s of value
becomes little to confess
when what you hold
is worth all the gold
and you give it up
for lentils or less

I submitted my poem
to a teacher, Mr Rowan
and he graded it an F
Still, I’m a great poet
he just doesn’t yet know it
but some day he’ll have to confess

though he’ll give me an E
yet when it comes to poetry
I’m the greatest poet there ever was
I’ll climb my way to a D
just wait and you’ll C
I’ll prove it just because

I’ll let go and let B
he’ll wonder if it’s me?
A poet born not made
he’ll grant me an A
on a poem I’ll tear up that day
and prove I’m more than just a grade

The moon was afraid to rise
so it settled for the night
gave the day to the sun
and in doing
compromised its light
Now often every evening
as soon as the sun will set
it makes an appearance
before the sky and day reset
And like tears, the stars twinkle
while the moon mourns regret
how light once sparkled
now just sprinkle
of things you lose but can’t forget