Panic

As you've seen in the past, I like to write poetry. Unlike many people in the world today, I still love rhyming poetry. When I first started trying to sell my poetry to online sites, I quickly found out that it was seen as "amateur-ish" and "proof of limited knowledge".

I tried for a long time to acquire the knack for writing poetry that flowed without rhyming. I only wrote one that I felt was actually worth publishing. This is that poem, and I call it "Panic".


A panic rose within my mind, a feverish pitch of fear and rage.

I tried desperately to quiet the unending thoughts of horror that
raced around in blur of atrocities.

The gnawing in my soul warned that all would be lost with no
hope to regain the pleasures of the here and now.

Then a momentary glimmer of faith emerged from the fading mist
of a sidestepped reality.

Quickly, I forced my way through stacks of books thrown from the
shelves in frantic haste and piles of strewn laundry to victoriously
announce that I had found the remote.


Of course, I eventually decided to say bite me and went back to my comfort zone.