Compose. Create.

Boil blood for Byron, bane of logic sound,
In basin built of bone to which flesh of man was bound.
Bleed the stanza sanguine- seeping solemnly,
Onto parchment paper, painting poetry.

Diction`s dripping down, drowning you and me,
Setting simple syntax, scraping sanity,
Lacerating larynx, coaxing crying crowds,
And calling on creeping, weeping, clouds.

Rhythm reverberates in rhyme,
To the poet`s thoracic time,
His huffing, I mean, his bellowing breath,
Until, usurped, his life succumbs to death.