The Last Poem

This is the last poem that I write about lost love about childhood dreams gone bad about living with doubt this is the last poem I spit the last lament I send the last crying goodbye I scribe the last question poem ending in why this is the last poem I rhyme Why do I hate to rhyme? It's a total waste of time there it was, now I'm done No more rhymes, no more holes no more bends, no more no more no more repetition This is the last time I vent bitching and whining about social injustice then wash my hands and eat some more in my warm bed under superfluous blankets of security this is the last frantic paced poem of change angst ridden and full of hate I scribble out just in time to watch the damn news at ten so I can add my two cents tomorrow in another poem fanatically expressed and full of pith and wash, but static just the same This is the last poem I write Whose meter is bad and rhythm out of pace This is the last poem that doesn't matter This is the last poem that doesn't help This is the last poem that placates And now it’s done Written January 7th, 2002 © on Jan 07 2002 08:16 AM PST   10 • 0 • 14