Know something's amiss:
Passing paperclips
Beneath fingertips
Tingle with promise

The ego gone wrong
In fashioning pain
As some kind of game
In guise of being strong

Yet elsewhere bombs fall
Of course we can care
The cowardly dare
To answer the call

False means to atone
For wallowing guilt
At all the blood spilt
That isn't your own

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For a poem about motivation

I find myself lacking real inspiration.

After a period of procrastination

It’s become a source of great frustration.

Is this real artistic creation

Or just intellectual masturbation?

But following quiet contemplation

I had a sudden revelation:

What I am lacking is

The title.

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Please consider watching this slam live on Youtube (with subtitles):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPo1FANFUTU

I can’t help writing in rhyme. I do it all the time.

Rhymes sneak into my texts unbidden

Or if they’re not there, or are too well hidden

Their absence clangs like a bell

And I feel compelled to find them somewhere… bear, care, dare, hair, tear… repair, despair…

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