Ode to My Words

Ten thousands poems are written.
Ten thousand essays the same...
Only one or two hundred are smitten,
The rest are sour or lame.

Am I a monkey at a typewriter?
Am I a robot making rhymes?
Or am I a man with ideas
That shall stand the test of time?

Am I Paul Bunyan or John Henry
Furiously upstaged by machines?
Am I full of rotten envy
Of what I only could have been?

I chose a foolish path...
Many were wiser and sharper with the pen...
I hear my sound, it's foolish...
And I want to make an end.

If I climb Mount Everest
And then I climb K2,
And then take a submersible,
To the bottom of the Mariana, too

Where on Earth can I go?
A thousand trails I've trekked?
My voice is so annoying,
My whining makes me vexed.

I watch the world die---
I watch the work made slow...
I have made myself real wise,
And everything I now have known.

At the end, am I like Apollonius 
A perfect philosopher at the bench
Looking at the gavel, 
My judge a youthful wench?

And shall she say that I am guilty,
For talking ever so loud?
And shall she throw the gavel
And upon the discus pound?

And shall I then a lawsuit,
Which my accusers will not budge,
Go to court with my law-suit
And plead my cause to the judge?

And they who know my Jesus
Obstinately take me before the judge?
And then they say "He's no genius
"For that I hold a grudge."

And what will I do?
For the judge shall smite me sore.
I shall go, I shall go, and shall I pay?
The last cent to the bone ensure?

And sit in my captive bonds
And wait my trial to die?
Or shall I, or shall I
Like Apollonius, in rapture fly?