My Toil
I would like to meet the
Deity that decided that
I would spend my life
As a Sisyphus in
Purgatory, trying to be
Joyce, Kafka, Fitzgerald, Hemingway,
But not even coming close.
Not to mention
Bard, Dante, Vergil.
But no, I will futilely try
Until I die,
To be one of those guys,
And one cannot deny
That while I
Will write until my pen goes dry
And while I will barely get by
And the odds try to defy
That I may be esteemed so high
To be among those gods above the sky.
Deity that decided that
I would spend my life
As a Sisyphus in
Purgatory, trying to be
Joyce, Kafka, Fitzgerald, Hemingway,
But not even coming close.
Not to mention
Bard, Dante, Vergil.
But no, I will futilely try
Until I die,
To be one of those guys,
And one cannot deny
That while I
Will write until my pen goes dry
And while I will barely get by
And the odds try to defy
That I may be esteemed so high
To be among those gods above the sky.
posted by Brian Hillman at 6:44 PM
1 Comments:
Why does every line in the last stanza end with the same sound? That sucks. You should diversify the sounds; then you might get above the sky; or get into our esteemed university.
Nincompoop.
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