I woke up this morning remembering a poem I wrote decades ago. I couldn’t have been more than 10, I suppose. It is woefully self-indulgent and embarrassing but now I’ve thought of it, I can’t get it our of my head so ima inflict it on you too.
I had to read it out in front of the class which was far from a reward. I hate speaking in front of people to this day, even though it’s a big part of what I do, possibly because of this one incident.
I’m not sure what caused me to remember it, I suppose I might have been dreaming about horribleness. Anyway, here it is for your amusement:
A brazier stood next to it,
A ruler never heard of it,
And that is how a life became a ‘for’.
The torturer found what he sought,
He made an is out of an ought,
And suddenly a torment was a war.
And that is our enduring bluff,
We think of people just as stuff,
We think of use instead of love,
And wonder why it’s not enough.
So now you know why I never became a poet. I was quite proud of it at the time.