Here I was, reading and
writing poems on HP,
glad I hit a personal
high in frequency,
if not classic poetry.
Some months passed,
and my interest in it,
being afflicted with
Poetry Enthusiasm Deficit.
Was it work, ***** Netflix
intake with less water,
or i let 'busy' hijack my
life while poetry
passed me by?
The doctor told me,
'take it easy,
one word at a time,
or you'll feel queasy,
PED can happen any season,
not the Netflix kind,
the autumn-spring type,
I know how you feel'.
I glanced at his notepad
just as he covered it,
scribbles with lines
ending with rhymes,
crocin and aspirin,
words of chemical mystery,
compositions poetic
and bitter tonic
converging like two streams,
reminding me of modern art
since I could decipher
little from the sheet o' paper,
too surprised to pretend
to comprehend.
'I am recovering, I will form
a support group,
give a PED talk even,
'Just let it out' '.
I did. I realised PED's
a good reason
to mask a rant as a poem.
Don't you blame me, I
more than hinted in the title.