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A Disillusioned Poet Dies
Now that I'm lying in my hearse
I realize that my paltry verse
Was simply just an ego-trip,
An attempt to show that I was 'hip'
Just like those beatniks that went before
Who's hackneyed ideas are a crashing bore!
I realize now that my poetry
Was just the fruit of vanity -
What did I think that I could gain
By versifying my endless pain?
Now that I've finally had my day
I hope that you will throw away
The books I strove so hard to write
Before the coming of my night.
I beg you now to set me free
From useless, hopeless poetry -
What a bloody waste of time
Obsessed by the trivia of rhyme! !
John Thorkild Ellison