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Click hereDear Will:
I dare not tell
the men of musket and rye
that a poem was written
much less claim
it was I
For their views of worth:
a hundred yard bull's eye
wrestling a bear
after a keg
of ale or rye
I drinketh not
and for that I am shunned
but they're impressed
with my handling
of Griz and a gun.
That's the way of the forest
where I reside
but by candle light
my words to paper fly
by day
they I must hide
To be
or not to be
maybe a choice
but my mind is drawn
to script of a pen
I am no Romeo
I have no Juliet
Perhaps I am dull
But poetry grasps me
like Hamlet holds a skull
Life's tiny stage
you are known to rule
here you would be the fool
I feel you only know
how my pen is a tool
To remove my hand
would surely end my write
But that wouldn't stop
the words inside
my tongue would improvise
I write you now
cause I feel you know
the inner beast
that knaws at my prose
and scribbles in candle lite glows
Is there a cure
for my desires?
this need to write
an act or scene
or is it death or poetry?
My dear friend Will
I suffer a madness
in my head's sphere
tonight's write
to William Shakespeare
should stand alone as a poem. Those stanza are the most interesting and they tell a complete story. It would make a very good poem. I'd use the title and the remaining stanzas as another poem.