Bad Poetry

Perhaps I shouldn't walk a poets way?
Amusingly my muse just seems to trail
Further away.
I'm amateur you'd say?
My immature words lacking sway?
Stray meaning does't stay with you and grow?
It doesn't glow for you in darkness
Because I'm sparkless.
Unlike you.
Like you there are so precious few...

Perhaps you'd be my renovator?
Refine each line to make it greater?
Reform my grammar, fix my flow.
Transform it all
Transfix me as you go
And shift my style and meaning.
Or lift with lofty smile my leaning
To be too verbal.
My subnormal poetry can never be eternal.

Perhaps one edit is enough
To reinvigorate this fluff?
Clean swing of sword
Through empty drivel
Cut words into more healthy rhythm.
Bestow with every blow perfection for your flow.
So it may glow with piercing brightness
Of warm lightness.
Part on your spree words' sea in two.
Tie me to see into myself so I won't flee.

I know you are a poet.
Do you have to taunt?
It's what in arrogance I want to be.
Won't every character and dot
Be evidence I'm not?
By God's decree you ought to be
Better than me at being me.
And even though no one can know,
Perhaps it is already so?

For you in view of all
Upon your stage
I pledge to walk barefoot
On bleeding edge
Wedge in between each thought
Poisoned insanity that has no antidote
Let solitude denote my greatness.
Be shameless.
With every note affront
What others cannot note.
Playfully careful with each word.
Endlessly restless with my senses
Ceaselessly senseless
Yet somehow primed and honed.

And if I shall uphold,
Make me a real poet?

On second thought
Perhaps it's better if you don't.