A new voice

My English degree

had me acting

With the voice of a dead man.

Robbing graves in

search of mirrors.

Coming face to

face with faceless.

My words were painted

antiquated and imitated with

the brush of dead

masters searching the past

for my future. I passed

my classes by crafting

art for the masses

While appeasing my masters

I was subjected to failure.

I could teach a subject in failing

Where sentences end in.

Thoughts that are trailing....

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/97vtxe/comment/e4by3nd?st=JKXDQDQ0&sh=a8e57012

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/97x3m5/comment/e4bxw49?st=JKXDRFLJ&sh=a561f169