The fool that is me
sprinkles seeds in concrete
Waters them with poetry
Waiting on a bounty
of false harvest fantasies
The fool that is me
Writes verse by moonlight
Crafting rainbows at night
that nobody sees
The fool that is me
Choking on self serving
well deserved anonymity
So full of rage and blame
at his decaying dreams
slowly dying
on the toxic vines
of creeping reality
Choking off all delusions
that this sad author
is anything more
than just another
self delusional mediocrity
toiling the barren fields
of creative emptiness
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