In the end, the poems were all bad
And the rain was no ablution
Even the holy waters were dirty.
Ultimately, thunder no longer frightened
And the lightning failed to awe
For I had lost everything I had.
I had lost everything I thought
I had and what was left were
Just the poems that were all bad.
You try writing a good one, down
To your last few adjectives and nouns
Clonking around in a bag of bones
Without the fear of thunder
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