Have you heard about the poet,
that abandoned the gumption
to aesthetically write?

Who turnt a def ear to the darkness,
by quenchin’ their hunger –
with an appetizer of stars,
that shine luminously bright.

Who engulfed moments of happiness,
‘n washed them down –
with the effervescence of panic stricken fright.

Sadness was an exquisite choice – for an entrée.

As there was a plentiful feast of heartbreak,
for all who’s stomach’s so miserably yearned.

It was left in the oven – of despair (like an urn),
‘n most of it’s melancholy desolately burned.

So, dinner was skipped- without any regret,
nor concern.

Nobody likes regrets, or concerns.

As far as the poet was concerned,
Dessert would make a triumphantly “romantic” return.

With a well displayed,
flambéed Heart.

Whereas love is always a great place
for a poet to start..

Endin’ with love – is what sets
tonight’s meal apart..
from last night’s meal,
which ended with
microwaved distraught.

The poet wiped their mouth – with candor,
threw it in their plate – with dander,
‘n excused themself – from the kitchen,
barely stable.

Then, thinks of writin’..
But remains emotionally unable.

As every bit of inspiration
has been removed,
by way of consumption,
in this fable.

Moral of the story?


It’s not the appetite in which you carry.

It’s all about what you bring
to the table.

-rome ©2016


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