Perpetual Frustration of Writer and Lover

I just surprised myself with this poem, which I had to write for my English class. As always, I strive to share my lack of genius with all three of you who read this blog. Enjoy, or choose not to!

On the off-chance the poets one day will

Write of our love with wit sharper than mine,

Erasing details in order to fill

Marginal notions of meter and rhyme,

Striking out hard times for meaningless good,

Carelessly flourishing withering pens,

Boorishly scribbling over what could

Spell out the truth in more capable hands,

I hope the poets don't learn of our love!

Nor teach the world false, through elegant tale,

That knowledge of love the world's in search of

Could ever be found without true love's hell.

Foolish writers! Love, the sonnet of life,

Is equal parts joy, and equal parts strife.