Futility

Futile Efforts

I am trying to write a poem

But not having much luck

Fruitless time spent pondering

And a lot of time spent wandering

Through Webster’s Dictionary

Along side Roget’s Thesaurus.

This journey leaves me knowing 

I know nothing much at all.

These lines reflect desperation

I’m sure this will not pass

For many a poet gone before

Prolific writers and so much more

Shakespeare, Frost and Yeats,

T.S. Eliot makes me feel an idiot.

Words penned with eloquence

Profound my weak intelligence.

This journey leaves me knowing

I know nothing much at all.

Nothing much at all. 

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