• It seems that whenever I open the page,
    There's a hundred poets waiting to rant and to rage
    Of the death of their love, and of their love of death.
    They cry bitter tears with their every breath.

    Their couplets are paired off in riveting angst,
    And to shadows and burdens, they give ample thanks
    As they pen down their sorrows with moaning and sighs,
    And complain of a world with such scandals and lies.

    Now, it's all well and good to let sorrows be heard,
    But the way poems are going these days is absurd.
    And you may find this statement unfeeling and lame...
    But the poems I see today all sound the same.

    Do not misunderstand, I do not mean to mock.
    I just have no desire to be one of the flock.
    If your pain is so real, then I must ask you first
    Why each line that you write comes out sounding rehearsed?

    Before you may call my remarks into question,
    Please allow me to give you this friendly suggestion.
    While you are posting this depressing display,
    It does nothing to help all your pain go away.

    Instead, if you can find just one thing worth a smile,
    Perhaps on this thing you could write for a while?
    Risk the road less traveled, step away from the trends,
    And I think you'll find you're better off in the end.

    You may call me a fool, say I don't understand
    How this pain that you feel leaves things sordid and bland.
    But the world's only this way when you make it so,
    And I pray that, for your sake, you learn to let go.

    Let there be no more tears overwhelming our words.
    Let us write instead of smiles and laughter we've heard.
    Write me a poem without broken hearts bleeding -
    Now that, my friends, I call a poem worth reading.