Defending my position in society

This little book of rhyme
holds captive my heart.
No, my mind’s the real upstart.
Credit to my heart’s a crime.
Desperation took the real blow
as I took my time, in vain.
Rewards of society not yet gain’d
because my step was a little too slow.
A funny argument took place
inside that public workplace.
Employees put on a masquerade
to disguise their unsatisfied facade.
And I realized I wasn’t them,
couldn’t be, they didn’t write poetry
and I did. They disagreed with me
because poetry does not make money.
They asked where’s the profit?
What was the mark-up?
Sitting down instead of standing up?
Your way of life is too unfit.
And they laughed (to be comfortable)
and to seal the argument
I started without repent.
Was I wrong to declare them unstable?
I could not eat my poems...
yet they nourished me?
How could this be?
Money was society’s totem.
But I live with virile blood
consumed by an inescapable love,
guided by literary’s wanderless dove,
On corporate shores... I flew above


Poem, Poetry, Writing, Love,

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