This is Exactly How it Happened

As I was driving across a bitter highway
I entered a blue haze
Which upon further inspection was seen
To be a cloud of dry snowfall

It was here that I realized
That I must take this paradigm of mine
And transform it, consiously
Into something else that I could more easily manage
Regardless of the fact
That I would be ignoring a particular reality

As I tried to utter this in my mind
To create a new piece of literature
I realized that poetry is the pathetic attempt
Of self-short-handed men and women
To place themselves above the people around them
By expressing their thoughts
In gramatically incoherent mummbling
And claiming this failure to use language properly
As a lisence of the artistic
Only further proving their incompetency

I then came home
And several hours later
I wrote this

This is exactly how it happened.

Roses of Rome

I remember once stumbling upon the pebbles of Rome,

And trying to recall why rose petals tasted so good.

Is it their flavor?

Or do their thorns make them a worthy meal?

I suspect it is the pigment.

As much as it may fade, it never washes out.

And with a little time,

We have ourselves an entirely new sweater to wear.