As I close another bout,
Hear my head lies,
Together but filled with doubt,
Stored away in this imaginary jungle,
Searching and searching,
All across the pages do I fumble,
Writing what I do not know,
My hand moves and the lines form,
Decent, my mind like the crows,
Blood runs boiling,
heartbeat races,
while my hand is toiling,
Finally, I am done,
This masterpiece I wrote,
Which was just for fun,
I say, only for a fee,
A one time charge, it can't be free,
A short look, a glance to see,
The hidden mysteries, inside of me.
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