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Poem

History will judge me I'm finally told,
when greatness will be mine to behold;
this naked truth has always reflected my intent...
nobody has ever been able to muzzle any sentiment.


Negative criticism can't eat away my spontaneous creativity,
and diminish this inwardly intricacy;
and if irascibility seems irrepressible...
no irony is found in relevant words that are totally irrefutable.


History will judge me for my free will,
examining my morals and authenticity,
and by its own standard, acclaim me as they will...
even for my fluent and expressive verses of sincerity.


Belying is not the mendacious creed I profess,
intolerant of inequality, inflamed by fairness...
expelling deeds of duplicity that impinge on truthfulness;
and the imbecile, like the scoundrel, still practices insolence.    


History will judge me for my temperament:  sad, jaunty,
jolly, jocose, comical, querulous, lonesome and moody;
and should it immortalize me among its chosen literati...
this honor I will accept with acclamation and dignity. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci 
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