Poor Poet

By AlexeiOgorodov

Fri, 28 Oct 2005

Chasing perfection
To get satisfaction
I am playing with rhyme
Not having a dime.

It's a kind of infection
This poetic affection.
I am scratcing a line
Mixing water with wine.

Constant threat of starvation
Excites my thought modulation.
I always have to define,
"Where & What am I going to dine?"

I need inspiration
Like a sinner needs salvation,
So I'm waiting for a sign
Stirring words in my mind.

This is extortion
Finding proper proportion.
I have to combine
So the stanza looks fine.

I am close to abortion
From this mental exhaustion.
I've got no more time.
I'm feeling squeezed like a llime.

To hell with celebration!
One last publication!
It's not a big crime,
If I were to resign.