What is the worth,
Of the words I jot down?
As they jog through my mind
Though they seem so profound
When I get them on paper
They’re little more than a thought
If you stumbled upon this
Turn away like I want
Don’t waste time on this poem
It’s just a pawn in my game
That I play against no one
In the ghost of a dream
That I can’t call a daydream
Cause it comes late at night
When I lie awake looking
For the next step in life
I call myself a poet
But I know this is a lie
Cause I write obscure nothings
In this notebook of mine
I keep it from others
Locked deep in my cave
In a fire proof box
I hide the results of my game
I am not a poet
I am not profound
This page will be recycled
Once I am in the ground
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Stephen, on the contrary, reading your poem was time well spent. I think most of us can relate... nice job! Brian