My Last Poem

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The poetry left me today;
That little flame of pride,
She made sure–
To extinguish last night.

And in my helplessness,
All I could say:
“Why did I ever think,
She was going to stay?”

I thought I was her poet,
And she was my free verse.
I thought I could get her,
To see it my way.

And in my foolishness,
I told her: “You are my creation!”

But she was contrary,
And told me straight-faced–
I was nothing without her,

For she had her own say,
And that my opinion,
Didn’t matter any way.

And she could find,
Another loser–
That would see it her way.

And as I look back,
At all the poems,
I had written,

I thought they were mine,
But it turned-out,
They were her’s.

For she was the rhyme,
And I had no reason.

So, what am I going to do now,
With all my selfishness,
For I have no muse,
And I’m too poor–
To afford a mistress?

By: ElRoy © 2018

One thought on “My Last Poem

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