Bad Poetry For The Ages, continued

Bad Poetry For The Ages, continued

In the land of rhyme and meter,
Where words doth flow like a river,
A poet sits and pens his thoughts,
In hopes that they may be sought.

His lines are clumsy, his rhymes are bad,
His metaphors are overused and sad,
But still he writes with all his might,
For his words are his guiding light.

He writes of love and of despair,
Of joy and of hope that's rare,
Of all the things that make us feel,
The wounds that never heal.

His words may not be the finest,
But they come from a heart that's honest,
Though his poetry may not impress,
It speaks to those who feel distress.

For in the end, it's not the form,
But the feelings that the words perform,
If they touch someone's soul,
Then his poem has met its goal. 

👱👲👈👉👲👳