Just the other day I had one one hundredth of an epiphany. It involved me feeling very bad about myself and then realising that I’m not as good a writer as I was two years ago. It’s true when I tell you that I stopped reading books five years ago. In fourth grade I must have read more than five hundred books. In fifth, around three hundred and fifty. In sixth, around four hundred. In the seventh, around ten. In the eighth, around three. And in the ninth, zero.
But this post isn’t an elegy about how a writer’s ability was buried under four feet of poetic earth, it’s about rhymes involving quicksilver.
To a person whose ability exceeds
The most brilliant minds of mice and men
Whose fingers can count upto eleven
Who has never seen that particular kind
But it goes without saying that this personality
With the most exceptional ability
Will taste that cheese once more.
While it passes with everlasting nonchalance
Beautifully helps this verse to rhyme
And maintains a fine degree of balance.
From the bottle up in the sky;
The blue sky says one last time, goodbye.
Only the druids survived mercurial manipulation.
From peace of mind to solitary stagnation
Intertwined with an envelope of emancipation
Of lateral thinking, a free invasion.
Comment and let me know.