Calamity

If writing like Bukowski,

Casts a big storm.

Then who am I,

When I write like Yeats.

Are the thoughts we ignore,

Harder to taste.

Does writing in verse,

Decide my own fate.

Free-form is easy,

If your thoughts are in line.

Verse can be freeing,

If your patience allows time.

You write,

And you write.

It shouldn't be easy.

Words that all rhyme,

Are all well and fine.

But yelling to the heavens,

In a free style eruption,

Makes sense to just me,

A brain in disruption.