Dear poet society, I will not let poetry die.
Don’t believe creativity has become desolate and dry.
My dominion teems with creative words and inspirations.
All I have to do is organize them into neat constellations.
I would like to ascend to rank of poetically licensed knight.
Others will not run away in fright: they know “I don’t bite”
Unless jealous haters start a fight.
My weapon of choice being my vocabulary
Controlled, yet capable of filling a cemetery.
I can conjure images so real they create phantasms.
They embed themselves in mental chasms.
Following my will, they can give rivals spasms.
With symmetry so true it will make your mind divide.
These poems will serve on my honor while serving as my pride.
Throwing words around; they call it wordplay.
The way I spray words make opponents my pray;
With their minds in a fray, lifeless they lay.
And last I exhale because with the power of words I will prevail;
So don’t lose sleep, but for now I bid you all vale.