I imagined one day I met two of Me,
and I pictured them sitting side by side.
The Me on the right was writing frantically.
the Me on the left dared ask why she tried.
While the Right Me wrote, the Left Me sat still
as if she was working for an opposite will.
She sat idly, her hands folded in her lap,
her eyes closed, creativity taking a nap.
Left Me asked Right Me, "Aren't you discouraged?"
The poet continued to write.
"Not being like you is reason to be encouraged."
But her grasp on her pencil grew tight.
"I guess you're not like me, 'cause I would give up now,"
said the slacker, trying once more:
"You don't like what you've written, you think it is worthless,
and your penmanship's almost as poor!"
"If I don't keep trying, I'll never get better;
now please let me finish this verse!"
Left scoffed, "Please, the meter's barely holding together:
if anything, this piece just gets worse!"
Left continued: "Forgive me, I don't understand--
you scribble and scrawl until pain cramps your hand.
I really don't know how this comes over you.
Writing poetry's silly, so why do what you do?"
Right Me slammed down her pencil,
looked Left straight in the eye.
"Okay, so you asked for it--
I'll tell you why!'
"It's structured and satisfying,
easy to write;
When things do fall into place
the poem glows in the light!"
"Furthermore, poetry, by nature, must be concise.
No long-winded sentences! (My incorrigible vice:
when I read over them later, I think I might as well keep
my thoughts to myself since my reader's asleep!)
"The balance and rules
give the words symmetry;
When I find rhymes and count syllables
It's like composing a symphony."
Then, Right Me looked at her pencil
as if she'd come home.
She turned the page,
knuckled down,
and
she
wrote
you
this
poem.
Nice!
ReplyDelete