The poems of my generation are sad
The poets got hurt and now they’re mad
Easy lives filled with human pain
They cry out to the night in vain
The poems speak of love too oft
Yet at monogamy they all have scoffed
The poets can’t compose alone
They need to drink until they moan
Until they make yet more mistakes
More material for the poems they make
I too have fallen down
Into the poems that gain renown
I have tried to please the world
To validate souls bent and curled
Now I know the truth to tell
The night is not a wishing well
Poems should reflect God’s own heart
Each one with a moral to impart
Poems should express things pure and true
That doesn’t mean they can’t be sad or blue
Just that our hearts should be nobler things
Than a metal shell that hollowly rings