Confessions of a drunk poet

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just to prove u wrong

when drunk i can still rhyme a song

tequila may burn my throat

but it is rhyme in my blood that floats

my eyes may droop in bliss

in woes i can still find my bliss

you may not like the taste of beer

trust me when drunk it is not that queer

red wine over good food is awesome

ah crap am drunk wholesome

The Wary Poet

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in no mood to write

 poet wearily looks the pen and paper in sight

and delves deep into his brain

wondering how a closed space enshrines thoughts so unrestrained

suddenly his world changes

from dungeons to forests to ice white mountain ranges

pictures sounds feelings colors he doesn't need to think

and on paper his thoughts begin to ink