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I hate to admit I have an obsession.
All writing has halted since the day
that I came into possession
of this book with the infamous ballade.
I cannot write it, try as I may.
Until I conquer this dreadful style
or rip my hair out into a pile,
I fear it’s possible you might find
I need to succeed in a short while.
I just might lose my blessed mind.
Not writing is causing great depression.
I’ve tried to write it many ways.
And now my friends I have a confession.
I curse the French for they are crazed.
Here I sit confused in a fixed gaze.
In my throat this rising bile
forms as teeth clench in a smile.
The French knew that we couldn’t find
words to master this infamous style.
I just might lose my blessed mind.
I rage against you with my aggression.
When I’m finished, I’ll be amazed.
I think I’m starting to get the impression
that my skills have now decayed.
All because of these writing delays.
Hopefully it will be awhile
before the next impossible style.
Alas, blank verse is next in line.
I already feel the rising bile.
I just might lose my blessed mind.
It might be easier to cross the Nile
so maybe I should wait awhile.
Beware of all that you might find
when trying to learn another style.
I just might lose my blessed mind.
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