I really don't know, what to do sometimes,
Seems the only poems i scrawl, always end up in rhymes,
I try to do poems, that distinguish what i write,
And not just scribble down, what i see in plain sight,
I would never count myself as a poet, yes thats true,
The amount of thoughts i receive, is more manic than a zoo,
So many dreams, how will i fit them all in,
This life's a game of chance, and that's a game i want to win,
So many ideas, i don't know where to start,
Will i twist, will i turn, or fire straight as a dart,
The answer eludes me, it taunts me at times,
I don't like to play fair, for my sins and my crimes,
Never truly conformed, to the rules of the game,
People following the route, and it ending the same,
So if this is an attempt, at me being new,
Then I'm not a poet, and neither are You.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Chris this is a good poem and not just cause it rhymes.