Wasting Ink Poem by Leria Hawkins

Date: July 30,2021
By: Leria Hawkins

Much too deep, the golden well
Or I too shallow, to sit a spell
My ears too short, my eyes too blind
To read the lips of sharper minds

My river flows the avenues
Colored in so such varied hues
Never too pompous or rightly grand
That simple minds can't understand

A twaddle here, a prattle there
A whisper just to clear the air
Never stately, grand, unique
My rantings never run that deep

A cackling hen, a silly goose
Just restless banter on the loose
My wings too weak to travel far
But I still like them as they are

A bit of gushing, a little lust
My gritty mind has turned to rust
Keeps flaking off in tiny bits
I know that I should call it quits

Yet here I am, a'tapping still
I never seem to have my fill
I hope someone will indeed
Understand the planted seed

A drifter who will get the ruse
The wicked way I treat a muse
Just searching for a faultless rhyme
To ease the itch and fill the line

I never claimed to entertain
No expectation in this game
I'm not here to fuss or fight
I simply exercise my right

Some will say, a waste of time
Filling pages with this rhyme
But no matter what you may think
I'll still be here, wasting ink

Copyright © / Leria Hawkins 2021