The Loser PoetA Poem by Jack...Once again, sometimes it just seems that way
The Loser Poet Losing is a habit engrained upon my hands, claiming to be something I am not Peering in with one wicked eye fashioned of big words from worn out dictionary pages my thoughts are fire in lower case flames complete with soiled ash and filaments swinging in the breeze searching for the unburned match the last one… in a long line of empty phrases blank pages filled with everything conceived along street water girths and cigarette butts arranged in the shape of a question mark on my Walmart coffee table… never once questioning why Oh I have written, I have penned and my quill is soft and filled with ink of another’s pain, dripping on tree leaf mosaics and carpenter footprints, leading down that path that I lure unsuspecting verses now lost with me For I am the loser in this game only because I chose to play by my rules Penalties don’t count in my court for I am blind to the truth that I am nothing more than me…only what I seem © 2013 Jack...Author's Note
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Added on October 24, 2013Last Updated on October 24, 2013 AuthorJack...San Antonio, TXAboutNot much to tell about me, I am just Jack, I am a poet, a writer, a musician, a painter, a builder and a dreamer. I live in south Texas but am originally from New Jersey and miss it more and more all .. more..Writing
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