By James Strauss
What does it take to try to stay sane,
Living a culture where life’s a pain,
I work at assembly of my trip,
Like the Colt I often field strip.
Only eight pieces counting the clip,
Taking apart my heart does a blip,
Boxes of ammo never to load,
But feel better on easing down this road.
Twists and turns no danger just fright,
Am I afraid or just not that bright?
No threats just fearing my own self-doubt,
Am I the one to be hurt or am I the lout?
Poetry contains everything outside,
Revealing such things I’d rather hide.
Wanting to call out into the wild,
But worried to be thought simply a child.
I put words down my format so strange,
A child could do better too late to change.
Rhyming is something I’ve never tried,
Like the giant sailing in Princess Bride.