Terrible Poetry

     Every time I read contemporary poems, I wonder how in the hell anyone thought that they were good.  In turn, I have decided to write my own modern masterpiece. 




     As the clock ticks, my heart beats slowly

     Like the leaves in fall, I’m dead and lowly

     Love is a mystery yet to be solved,

     Leaving broken, battered hearts with no resolve.


     Red, the color of blood,

     Brown, the color of mud,

     One can only fall,

     Hopelessly to the ground.


     Cold, beaten, and alone

     Months go by, I simply moan,

     Like the wind as it blows

     The snow comes in droves.


     A warmth, I start to feel

     Could this be real

     As leaves start to bud,

     My love grows.


      The sun is shining,

      Similarly my love

      I’ve figured out the secret,

      My heart is fluttering, as a dove.


     Soon, the leaves turn,

     As do my feelings

     The cycle is complete,

     Love is a trick, not a treat.



I tried, ha. 


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