This poem is very good. It is the best poem. Please rate it according to these words (because it will fail most surely). I will come by tomorrow. Thank you. Enjoy.
He felt a tremor in his feeble mind
He realized that the work was never kind.
{He had forgotten common people’s work.}
He was of pure blood, not of mongrel breed.
He partook not of meth, of dope, of weed.
And yet he sat, he sat and felt berserk.
He was not brave. His tremors and his shakes
Would rouse the sleeping man to gladly wake
{He could not understand the sweetened praise.}
He often wished for purpose in his life
Yet he would flee from sadness and from strife,
Wither from some unassuming gaze.
He pined for something in the sleepless night
He pined for sleep! And yet with all his might
He brought himself to heights he could not stand.
He could not see his mind made manifest.
Mere words would gladly dance at his behest,
But thoughts! No, thoughts were something far too grand.
He wanted blood to drink and cheese to shun.
This kind of wordplay struck him as being fun,
This wordplay only he would understand.
He wanted to be better than he was,
But those were words to him, more like a buzz
Than promise, or than meat which he’d consume.
There was no love inside his bitter heart
He looked at things with apathy, unscarred
By all the things of which he’d safe presume.
He had no love inside him, not an ounce.
Not even when he walked or when he bounced
Upon his feet, a fighter at the ring.
He looked like he would complement the world.
But when his soul like parchment was unfurled
One found it clear that all he’d do was sing.
He has to look upon a beauteous poem
It is the normal work, the commoner’s tome
And yet he looks and likes not what he sees
He cannot not understand the swimming words
They speak to him, their voices quite absurd.
They are the words of poets, not of bees!
And he will gladly give up, to the breeze!
Where there is need of nothing, not a sneeze!