As a poet much-maligned,
Having failed at my art
To enthral the gathering
From the poetic parley, I depart

Some remnants from my abode
You shall find
An anthology of this berserk rhymester
One of its kind
Unearth you will, another thing of mine,
A broken, empty goblet of wine

I yearned to walk on glowing embers,
On a bed of thorns lie,
Moreover, to the heart’s content,
My destiny decry
Oblivious of many such asks
I walk away from unfulfilled tasks.

Though on my last leg
The final journey is held-up
Wonder if my broken heart
Still has some desires pent up
Oh my heart, let me go
Allow me to take a bow.