Poem 2 Poem by Michael Speakman

This poem will greatly surpass the last,
I want to be regarded as a Genius.
I am darkly brooding,
Each day balanced between living and dieing.
My brows are permently knit
I can break or make with a look.
I am almost unique,
Strung out on stars
though my countanence bleak.
I will lie suspended for ever.
Remembered and remembered.
Sunder those trees!
Fall gently to your knees!
I demand your belief!
For I am a Genius.