I could post some utter shite It might get a hundred likes A thousand, half a millon who knows Those utterances that stir the emotions But the key is to write Of angst and sentiment That at best, are trite And not poetic at all 'Your eyes will always carry me' 'Your love is deeper than a stormy sea' 'The only thing that will come between you and me. Is nothing' 'I left you but my heart remained' Oh the pain of the one liner A couple of words, ain't nothing finer I suppose you'll think I'm a bit of a whiner But twenty thousand likes for six words? When a poem of length and depth and gravitas With stanza and metre and structure and rhythm is lost In a morass of sound bite and plaintive dross Had Shakespeare written just the opening lines, Would literature be so revered over time 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' That's it dear William, nothing else to say? Has poetry had its day? Superceded by the single-lined angst-riddled Instagram way An audience that quickly likes and flicks To the next one, Read and immediately forgotten, Not reflected, considered or pondered upon. Time for another, Move on. Move on.
