I am not a man of constant sorrow.
I am not one who sees the forest. I see trees.
I am not much of one to see tomorrow.
Today is good enough for one who sees.
I am not a poet full of good intentions.
I am not a fan of words used as a lure.
I am not a writer craving voice in world dissensions.
Words aren’t always helpful, don’t always cure.
I am not where you will find no contradictions.
I am not where you will hear all answers spoke.
I am not immune to maledictions.
It’s possible to be both whole and broke.
I live in dreams, not always in real life,
in fantasies more real to me than you.
I am not a man whose sorrow’s like a knife,
that cuts, it’s true, still sorrows sometimes do.
True poetry is not always ‘I am’. That’s just a boast.
It’s often in ‘I’m not’, where it’s found most.