Oh beware the poet who critiques his own work,
For it maybe good though he might be a jerk
Just because one can put words to rhyme,
Does not make him right all of the time.
Peace is wonderful - oh shouldn't it last,
Indeed, indeed but look at the human past.
He who understands and is one who knows,
Should be judged by his deeds that is what shows.
You must not be moved by words or verse,
Nor by ails of your emptying purse.
He who owns often makes the rules,
So many follow like blithering fools.
Does the wordsmith of many a tongue
Believe what he says or purport more dung
A man on a mission or furious sound,
What might he say next time around.
For if the rolls were changed and reversed,
Would we really know the man by his verse.
If in the next life he came back as a king,
Would he care of the commoner or just of his things.
It is all what you make of it or so they say,
Who is the most noble on Earth today?
Is it the peasant bristled in rage,
Or is it the poet who won't turn the page.
He demands, oh see it from my point of view,
For I must be right this is written for you.
The illiterate masses take in his words with fear,
Yet what is really needed is to show him his mirror.
Beware the poet who woes us with rhyme,
For he knows very little most of the time.
Furl It
Simpy
