So this was a challenge to play with space,
Here I’m writing this poem trying to meddle with some words,
In a pathetic attempt, to make some text sound nice.
But what I don’t get, why does it matter if it doesn’t rhyme?
My grandfather was a poet, and so was I
Atleast that’s what I thought, many years ago
But as time went by, I just realized
Nothing more than a few lame words
Calling it poetry as an alibi.
I don’t know why I’m even writing this
I’ve got lot of work to do and lack of imagination
Yet I’m just sitting here passing time
Maybe I feel the need to write something not making sense
But ain’t I do that always?
So here I’m just messing around with the editor
Mashing some buttons begging me not to
I feel the need to write one more line
Or maybe it’s just I just want this to look
A DNA of drunken words
Need to work harder for time doesn’t wait
But heck I’ll do what I want anyways.