He wisely kept his verse private.
Why?
Was it awful.
Was it incredibly bad.
A mess of imitation.
A mass of unwanted revelation.
When you read it,
did you’re eyes bleed.
Or was it simply ordinary;
an all together pedestrian affaire.
Laid down on lumpy Sunday afternoons.
When he wasn’t actually him,
but another he:
A weekend driver.
A part-time Nerval.
Keeping rocks rather than crustaceans.
Sliding peacefully along.
I take it you were his friend,
and party to his inner-bard.
I take it you had his best interests at heart.
September 26, 2014
Part-time Bard
By sjlavery
This entry was posted on Friday, September 26th, 2014 at 11:40 am and tagged with Dan McGill, DM McGill, Poetry and posted in Dan McGill, Dan McGill Author, DM McGill, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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