High Men of Rhymers

 
I’ve never written poetry;
this is my first attempt.
It’s really hard to evade the fear
of living in poetic contempt.
 
The greats are all around,
Milton opened to his pages.
Not sure I can really compete
with Dante’s “throughout the ages”.
 
“Push yourself,” she says,
and I really wanna try.
But in front of an empty screen,
my muse begins to cry.
 
There’s no shortage of topics,
and all the words are there.
But wrinkles are starting to crinkle,
and there goes some more of my hair.
 
I could write about love,
indigestion, or a bunny.
It’s hard to rhyme words
while still being funny.
 
It doesn’t feel great,
this won’t move the world,
but maybe this poem
helps my wings to unfurl.
 
There’s a lot one could do,
and poetry seems kinda fun.
But I assure, of all the Wildes,
I’m prob’ly not one.
 
I’m still gonna play,
gonna get the flow down,
but until that time,
these white keys will I pound.
 
A new way to learn,
and a new way to fly,
maybe will help me be better
to learn how to write.
 
Worst case scenario,
this is the only one.
“Veni. Vidi. Vici.”
Okay...it was kinda fun.