My parents took me out,
And bought me beer.
Tonight,
I keep quiet,
And hold poetry near.
Life cannot be lived at Mach 6;
When it's going too fast,
You'd be better off dead.
Like Scheherazade, I've told 1,001 tales.
The trick is not in the telling,
But in knowing which ones you've already said.
A limerick will pass the time,
But it can never hold the attention,
Of a fully-weighted rhyme.
Then, the short story.
Next the novel.
Electronic words have not yet found their place,
Just like me.
In 9 months, newly embarking
On the next chapter.
The epilogue to college.
The preamble to life.
What came first,
The writer, or the page?
Script, syllable, or phrase?
Twist the words,
And shout.
XOXO
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