The Poet In Me

The Poet in me
Is finally dead.
Perhaps it happened
The day I wed.

The poet in me
It never did rhyme.
Maybe ‘coz it never
Cared a dime.

The poet in me
Came from my left side.
Always unimportant
It was ‘left’ aside.

The poet in me
It hated the prose.
Even in simple sentences
It would stick its nose.

The poet in me
Never wanted to yell.
Always looked for synonyms
For ‘crazy’ and ‘hell’.

The poet in me
My time it sought.
It begged me to write
Before it forgot.

The poet in me
Is finally dead.
Now what will I write
Lazing on my bed?

The poet in me
Is finally dead.
Yes, its true
(Apart from what you just read.)