I wanted to write a poem

I wanted to write a poem
About everything there was
That every poet writes about
And say it all because
The loneliness, futility, depression and decay
With so much loss and entropy, death needs a holiday
But autumn, clouds and dreaming
The flowers and the trees
Are happier to write about
The truth is in the seeds
Yet all these topics are too vague
To state a point or fact
That poetry is just my way
Of veering off the track