I never wrote stories before,
But I have subjects galore.
Little nothings I could describe
Every time I feel the writing vibe.
Metaphoric and confused,
The poet is bemused.
Because every time he thinks a rhyme
The poem becomes just a line
So, he says 'what can I do?'
'When all I write about is you'
-Find a subject more diverse
-Place your frustration in verse
And when you can see 'the lines'
Of the story that 'sublimes'
The words come easy, you're verbose
But you would rather write in prose.
Place yourself more In the zone,
To not miss out on the scene,
Which will give good contest entries
The prize of writers without envies.
The story line I chose today
To write about a poem's way,
Of touching hearts like blooms of May.
The poem is descriptive and as goes the narrative,
The man and woman seem addictive.
However: muse and story line
Again, are failing to sublime
Again, the subject line is dry
While nobody understands why,
This poet wrote some verse before,
Moved me to tears even more,
Better should have kept away
This contest entry will not sway.
The voting public will be 'brave'
In stoic manner they'll behave
And never give reviews that rave.
To what avail do they confuse,
Verbosity with writing muse?
To what avail do they pretend
In stupid writing to contend:
'Find satisfaction till the end'.
Captivated when they attend
Appendices that do amend
The thirst for rhythm and for rhyme
She is again... 'sublime'.
However, story seems ...not such
That one would say...or even catch...
The predicates are too...predictive
And look how he has rhymed "addictive".
I think five stars I should admiring
Offer for the subject and starting,
The middle content-I find... lacking
The ending... needs some mending.
But, all in all...enchanting.