I want to write but cannot find the words to craft a line
The tales of hurt, or beauty, love, of how one day you’ll be mine
The rhymes have all been done before, originality’s dead
Another overinflated art, a hideous beast we’ve fed

Perhaps if I
Changed the rhyme
Each time the stanza changed
Then maybe I
Could buy some time
With this plan so feigned

Why do I continue? God only knows
I have no story to tell
No tales of encounters with angels
Nor trips through fiery hell

I have a love, who greatly inspires me
But the way my heart sings forth
Is not in verse; it is quite plainly

I can write a poem that get’s on everybody’s nerves
Nothing new here; just reused words
I can write a poem that we’ve already heard
And that’s all I can do