Mark I. Kirkmeyer


When will I ever learn?
Why do I continue to burn?
I go to my family, help to seek
I ask for a little critique
They go into the program I use
Then they begin to abuse
Making changes and saving them
Erasing the work that I began

Six months I worked on the story
About my bout of lost glory
Overnight it was re-wrote
Like they were there on the landing boat
I can handle criticism, giving a hand
“The sentence doesn’t make sense in the plan”
But to just re-do all my work
why should I try; what’s the perk?

It’s no longer my story to honor fallen friends.
It’s their fiction; in the trash it ends.