The Satrical Love of Poetry By Colin S.

Love of Poetry

Poetry is not entertaining.
It cannot be fun
Whenever I read it,
I look for a gun.
Its verbal rhymes assault me,
The meter beats me with pain.
Should it ever be uttered,
I’ll jump in front of a train.
Alas, I hear its fell syllables,
All hope is lost
Is there a nearby river of fire
That I might swim acrosst?
O lyrics so foul,
Running round in my head.
If nothing else
I wish I were dead.
Everything about it is wrong;
I’m sure it’s a sin.
Yet you fools walk ‘round
Reciting with grin.
Poetry takes my soul,
It drains my life.
Surely it fills the world
With nothing but strife.
It is the tool of the devil,
The 7th plague of hell.
How can you people tell me
It wishes me well?
Its task, it seems,
To fill us with knowledge.
Should I hear much more,
I’ll die before college.
The words consume me,
They drown me in flames
Dost thou not hear me?
I’m done with your games!
I don’t like poetry
Of this my teacher knows.
Can we please hurry up
And get back to prose?
~Colin Sabie, 12th grade