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Strive
Second place only deserves a silver medal
How could I ever compare?
To Poe, Shakespeare, Dickens, Seuss?
My rhymes are formed by silly childlike phrases
Words of sheer brilliance never escape the lips of my mind
My diction lacks creativity
Almost as if ideas were stolen
It all seems like a useless repeat
Colorful letters pasted on history’s kiss
Lovers, haters, winners, losers
Death, Life, year by year
We have lost count
I strive for renewed hope
Of a verse unwritten
Unbeknownst to the wheels of time
Have gold draped across my stone
Strive to be my own genre
Instead of a stinging serpent
Sucking away clever couplets
Reducing the value of each time worn verse
No longer original
Blending into the countless hopefuls stealing words
