Hanging By A Thread
A poem reveals its true feelings.
I was born last week on this poetry site
And I was well received when I first saw the light
And though I have been thoroughly enjoyed
I’m now falling into the poetry void
They say that I’ve had my day in the sun
But I feel that my life has only begun
My author is just a regular guy
But I never want to slip away and die
My maker doesn’t seek eternal life
He balances on the edge of a knife
And though he does seek originality
I want to know true immortality
If I could only change the forum’s rule
I would be its perennial jewel!
My title would stay just below the header
And I could avoid the poetry shredder
All the visitors would read me first
And find out that I’m really well versed
But here I am—I’m sliding down the heap
And no one can find me to take a peep
Please, please don’t let my last reader be you!
My dear friend, I’ll tell you what you can do
Copy my text, and paste me entire
Into a file, and make me a flier
You can print me off, and stick me to cars
And post me on the doors of all the bars
Better yet, attach me to an email
CC my message, and then let me sail
To all of your contacts—your friends and your foes
To whom will they forward me? Nobody knows!
And though your address will likely be barred
You’ll keep me from the old poems’ graveyard
I’m falling into the oblivion pit!
Will you—can you—try to save me from it?