Help Me Please

Help me, please.
I won't pretend,
my literary skills
are at an end.

No matter how.
No matter the time.
Why do I write,
to have words rhyme?

Could I not
write words whole,
which moved your spirit,
while helping your soul?

Perhaps I'll try,
to remake myself
and avoid being,
placed on a shelf.

A shelf of words,
covered in dust.
My mind, once sharp
has begun to rust.