One Excuse, Or Another Poem by Jackie Allen

The man labored under the misguided Impression
that to be a writer, he had first to peruse all
the manuscripts that ever had been written.

Then, Fearing for his eyesight, he decided to take up
painting, visited every museum within the continent,
searching for that which had not yet been painted.

The man that was besotted with the Fallacy of his
intellect, ended up in an institution, seeking advice
on how to shape his mind into a piece of fiction.

Laboring under the impression that perfection
was always just within his grasp, he lost sight
of the fact that his Voice was an instrument of beauty.

The man that made all the excuses has expired,
his genius diminished, his Opportunity wasted. He lies
six feet below... beneath an ancient stone that reads:

“Passed away, due to a Stroke......of bad luck.”