His was feeble
His was inferior
Poetry of him
society was eternally abstruse
Throughout his manuscripts
His writin's were of fictitious philosophy
Tackled Modern issues
Now for he is changed
Gospels are his deliverin's
Renewed mind, alon'side
Renewed what he writes', alon'side
With Poets' ink pencil
A Poetical Offsprin'
withno poetry skills yet
He Who was Poetrybeared
By An exquisite poettes of that time.
New what i write
New what i am
Knew what poetry was, NOW.
Knew the poet had to transform.
Script what i desire
In green-clouded room is where i sit with my Poetic Pencil and so was my blank tree-made white paper.
Reborn of poet's poetry in me
My thoughts of fadin' sleep were improved
Ate my blank paper, went to the bathroom
Excreted poetry, took my waste looked it in the face told it ' how pulchritude you are '.
Thus it revolved me to a more conscious poetic human
I was REBORN
So was my poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem