Soul of the Poet
Invite of the trendy crowd,
yearning for acclaim,
a common braggart read aloud,
to glean synthetic fame.
The fellow even took a bow
when some had stood and clapped
The rest of them were in the know;
so mostly they just napped.
Elsewhere in a lonely hut,
near death’s parting knell,
doors and windows firmly shut,
a poet bids farewell.
Painfully she starts to write,
and pens a lovely score,
her phantom fans in sheer delight,
erupt in silent roar.
2nd Place, Put Your Best Rhyme Forward, Just That Archaic Poet
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013
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