Song

[heslopian]

My song is silent as bread
arranged to be cut.
Divided, devoured, digested.

I am here because I'm here
penning this song for you now,
this ode about nothing at all.

Do my barbaric rhythms grate;
this beggar at the feet of verse?
This isn't a poem about poetry.

I ask to say something at all,
padding like a stud his shorts.
This line is here for symmetry.

[Leanne]

The metapoem can't deny it's a metapoem without becoming a hypermetapoem you know

Love that last line especially. Although the first stanza is pretty damn poignant, and I'd quite like to see a different poem built around that.

[abu nuwas]

Maybe if you could whistle a few bars? Must be v stressful, this anti-hero writing a-poetical emptiness. Perhaps it would condense to a hai-

[heslopian]

Maybe if you could whistle a few bars? Must be v stressful, this anti-hero writing a-poetical emptiness. Perhaps it would condense to a hai-

That's an excellent idea, Abu. I think I will try and make it a haiku.

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The metapoem can't deny it's a metapoem without becoming a hypermetapoem you know

Someone once told me that you can't create in a vaccum. In recent years I've come to slowly learn what they meant