6and the poets without grace,
the poets who spend hours
stressing out thier pretty faces forming
weapons out of letters, using
language as a mace:
As you flail your sloppy cudgel,
as you flaunt your silly rage,
and as you capture many mindless fools
inside your second page,
Know simply that your anger
'twards the creatures you embrace,
is not solely impressive
nor will it leave a trace
of your bitter soul,
when you are gone -
devoured by this place.
For this planet known as Earth,
this gaudy ground you call a home,
will be around forever,
yet forever be alone.
And like your mother Earth's
your life is intricate, as well,
but you spend your better days
shaping this Heaven into Hell.
Worse yet, you spew it out,
for all the world to hear,
and publish, for our eyes, your
closet drama of the year.
But you forget, you lovely creature,
that a poet's not a myth!
And, someday, if you study hard,
you might find one within.