The Poet's Way I am the poet who speaks in jumbled rhyme. I awe you with my greatness, Metaphors shining their shielded truths at your eyes, But I seem great only because you do not understand me. I talk in circles, saying nothing, Or something only I understand. I am the tattered prophet, Standing on the Great Rock, Speaking through my spittle to the multitude: They listen but do not understand, For these are the ramblings of a madman. My words seem to hold great power And seem to hold great truths But they are nothing: Only empty vessels, decorated brightly. Read my words if you will, But they will only leave you confused and hollow: Behind the neon sign exists a wasteland. July 1998