I am written words on paper
In insipid flowery phrase
I haven't any substance
But I still expect your praise

You'll scratch your head a little
As you read all that I am
Of course I don't make any sense
Do you really give a damn

Oh how my beauty speaks to you
My words are so sublime
Vacuity fulfills my lines
Because, you see, they rhyme

I wonder what you think of me
And what you think I say
Is there something quite profound
When I equate the night to day

And when I change the subject
As you read from line to line
Do you feel that I am thrilling
Or just drivel asinine

As a poem, I'm artistic
I'm a cryptic string of lines
Will you know of what I speak
After you read me many times

Does my meaning speak aloud to you
Or whisper in your ear
Does my rhyme seem more important
Than a message that is clear

If I tell you that the dullest knife
Will make the sharpest cut
Does that bring you an epiphany
And hit you in your gut

Do you think that I'm a message
Or a self effacing joke
Am I essence of a scholar
Or innebriated bloke

Now that you've read up to this point
Do you think that I am real
Or just expressions of an author bored
With a little time to steal