Let the pages fly and spread their wings
Let my spilled inks make millions to think
It is plain and simple, hope it sinks
“All man has his fault”, the song I sing…
Some make angels to cry a river
Wrecking the cake not worth the candle,
I have made words fly off the handle
Like bullets from a trigger finger.
I have made unspeakable remarks
Awful, but to some I am proud of
Like daring heads and shoulders above
To stop picking paper over cracks…
On a wrong foot I might have stood firm
I am sorry it was all my fault
In life, there are few things I regret
But not the words blurted out in poems.