On the Pleas of the Damned

[Randomdistortion]

Every word is a riddle;
"why," you ask
do I suffer through
the laborious task

of metaphor, simile
this and that
and "'tis of thee," all the ins and outs of poetry
To answer, I propose, tit for tat:

I am a coward.
A skilled yellow dog,
I pen all thoughts thought untoward
I pose my problems on paper, soggy with things best left unsaid.

Every word is a riddle,
Yes, its true;
each syllable I fiddle
with is a secret message for you.

But decipher me not!
Spare me decryption,
Let my secrets on papyrus rot,
Leave unread my position.

For I am a coward:
while the truth I must tell,
the truth of this coward
is hidden in lyrical hell.

[Crash Override]

I love poems about poetry.

I couldn't really get a feel for the beat here, so you might want to try moving a few words around (up a line, down a line, that sort of thing) for more consistency.

Other than that, good work!