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