As I laid myself to rest
It occurred to me: I won’t be the best
Eternally stuck in second place or worse
No future poets shall read my verse
But I am content to never obtain victory
Those who come after won’t need me
For they are individuals, different and alike
And so their minds I need not impact or strike
In first place, there lies a sickening guilt
That chokes and smothers like a leaden quilt
Within my place, off the pages of note
I shall work my words and perfect my quote
Since I am so trouble-free
Second place or worse sounds quite perfect
To me.
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