This thought of mine must be written!
Yet Silence, in its golden gait,
Draws a line and writes within it,
"poems less than great
Are now forbidden"

Anger and Fear raced above
My battalion of emotions and met
Silence in curious revolt;
If not Juliet,
Who is worthy of Romeo's love?

Irrationality ends in violence!
For what it's worth,
Probably not much,
I must here write these words;
I truly do not care for greatness.

I simply wish to write.
To sometimes pull seven rabbits
From a single hat.
Beyond the hits
It is mostly because I forget, I write.