If ever I must sing as poets have
Then the world would be haunted
They'd find I was mad
I'd sing to the stars
I'd sing to the moon
No place on this earth
Could hide from my tunes

See my words sound on paper so wicked
and loud
Yet sing as I do
No poets allowed

The writing goes dancing all over the sheet
My voice in an octave
Not pleasant indeed
My shrill is the dreading of living in range
One shout of my music
Sends war from the planes
I've tried many lessons to
Be just like them
The greats like Lord Bryon
Keats and Miss Anne

Well I read the "Farewell"
Unusual for me as reading old lines
Means nothing but trees
She leaped of the page and incited
My views
I know where's she lays now
I bow to her muse

Three years I've been singing as poets would have
Yet all I find out there are
Wishes and sad
I want to send volumes for all of the land
I want to find gold
The never the grand
I want to sing out yet my voice
Goes unheard
I want to rejoice
My willing my verse
One day that I'm famous the poets will say
Please sing for us badly
As dead as I be  
And sing like an angel ..
My pure
poetry