Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote for school when I was struggling to find anything to write a poem about. Several people liked it, and I sent it into a writing contest. It's going to be published, but I don't know if I won yet or not.
There comes a time of year
It is poetry I fear
I think I might cry
looking for the mind-blowing rhyme
I must not forget
the time must not up-set
While others write poems about failed inventions
I'm the one failing despite good intentions
I'm no Silverstein
I'm definitely no poet
I might crash and burn
And trust me, I know it
Others write poems that are deeply philosophical
Or have a great beat and seem perfectly acoustical
While mine is just weird and sounds horribly arrhythmical
This is my poem, and it's worse than typical
Now I'm standing here
I'm not all that proud
My teacher made me, I was more than allowed
If you're wondering why this is not more profound
My wisdom and insight never came round
