I often roam to random folk,
And ask them for a theme.
Some smirk at me, some kid and joke,
But most lie in between.
Then some give me this awkward stare,
Like I'm a pesky stray.
When this happens, they tend to glare.
And so, I walk away.
The few that say 'What's this about? '
I answer 'Oh it's nothing'
Their gaze shoots back a look of doubt,
'It has to be of something? '
With this I tell them of my plan,
'I simply need ideas for poems'
But deep in thoughts their brains be damned,
So I leave them alone.
I often approach random folk,
And ask them for a theme.
But why? I'd rather they not know,
For they know all they need!
Yet when this process proves to fail,
And I can't find my profit.
Do I give up? No way in hell!
I just write 'Without a topic'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very Interesting. Nicely composed in verse. Good thought, Enjoyed it very much. Lynn W. Petty