Of what is there to write?
Love, honor, freedom?
But what if one believes not in love?
The demented ramblings
Of common strangers, then,
Seems useless to the heartless ear.
Honor, that of defending one's views
Or fighting for those of others,
Should be left to skeletal crusaders;
The old ways of 'might makes right'
No longer applies outside of politics.
And then, the popular adolescent topic,
One still young in its current malformation,
Is personal freedom or its lack,
Words of binding and hope.
It's long been overused by
Three-times-pierced rebels
With a cause to ignore,
Leaving nothing for the patriots
Of modern day poetry.
If one was to subtract
Love and honor and freedom
From the list of working topics,
Then what else could remain
For a muse to give its poet?