A Fey, Faux Poem Edward Elias, Year 10 I sit here with pen in hand, While my thoughts are off in a foreign land It’s a land without sorrow, a land without hate, A land without wars and… Concentrate! I sit here with pen in hand, Drip dropping sound devices under duress, I cannot concoct cool, calm un-coerced phrases – I must confess Right, my first order of business – what is the tone? And the second - just make sure I don’t drone The third – it has to relate more than just to me… where’s my phone? Focus! I sit here with pen in hand, Struggling to write a meaningful phrase, Ugh, I could say this in so many better ways. Because my diction is of the upmost…...criticality, And close behind, flow is also quite very……contributive, No, that doesn’t make sense, Now I’m just wasting lines at my own expense. The poem! I sit here with pen in hand, Now, what could possibly be the motif? This passage is causing me a lot of grief! You see: I’m lacking any sort of drive, I just don’t feel it’s coming alive, And how many stanzas is that? Only five?! Just. Finish. It. I sit here with pen in hand, I’ll tie the theme back in - it is the end If you understood this, you, I commend.