One Hopes that You Know Who You Are; Maybe You Don't

The guy went on for forty lines,
His purple words devoid of thought,
His atmospherics trite and dull,
And, when he'd finished, those
Around me murmured, “He is
So profound.” I rose at once
And stalked outside. I'd seen
A fraud and all his suckers.
Chastened, I was forced to ask,
If this is what a poet is, if this
Is what the readers want, have
Those years in which I've
Written been a waste of time?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 121 times
Written on 2014-05-16 at 01:19

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