There are no rules, none meant for fools,
Using the brain as a rusted tool,
My only attempt to be William Blake,
Why did I make my poetic mistake?
Each of them has read it; they all have said
Never to commit it again,
My only chance, to try and advance,
But it all has gone in vain!
I took a slow step forward,
But my mind still has no word,
Trying so hard to get that one,
But its formation is still absurd.
Yet, there is one rule, for the sole little
To never again try and be cool,
My pals well know it, and they still commit it,
Theyre all related to a mule.
I think of a story every time,
But everyone knows its fake,
The words I select, they never rhyme,
Its one of my poetic mistakes!
© Neelesh 2005