Of the pull that guides me so.
One day I felt a little tickle,
And so the words began to trickle.
Usually I like to tell tales,
Usually my attention fails.
I write my rhymes in lots of two,
But now I yearn for something new.
I'm not sure how to transition in style,
my previous attempts raise only bile.
Is such a change too visually jarring?
I should just try it and see how it ends,
I feel as if I am verbally sparring.
Words are my enemy but still my best friends.
Something there is not quite right,
but for now I tire and withdraw from the fight.
Where is that spark I know when I need it?
Why is my poetry worse when I read it?
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