• Oh dear seven,
    wish me luck,
    for I shall break this curse,
    whether it be for better,
    or worse.

    You plague my poetry,
    you hide it away,
    you tear it to pieces,
    you throw it away.

    And why?

    Oh grudge bearing seven,
    what have I ever done to you?

    Is this something you normally do?

    I work my soul to it's bone on every poem,
    I take my emotions,
    my fears,
    my laughs,
    my tears,
    and place them on this empty space.

    And you,
    once you arrive,
    kill my votes,
    is this a goal,
    you strive for?

    Poetry death seven,
    your wrath shall be broken,
    but until then,
    I hope that no one elses,
    poems end up in poetry heaven.