I Admire the Poet

I admire the poet who looks life seriously in the eye, whose emotions he won't deny. I admire the poet who makes me cry, but I'm not him, and I won't try. I admire the believer who will never discard his beliefs when times are hard. I hold the believer in high regard, but I don't believe - I'm scarred. I admire the lover whose heart is brave and bold, made by Eros from solid gold, his virtues I have extolled, but I gave up. My heart is cold. I admire the man who contemplates, who does what's hard and looks inside, who lets his conscience be his guide, but that's not me, besides, my conscience already died. I admire the philanthropist, who thinks not of himself, but others, who always helps his brothers, but that's not me. If I had my druthers, I'd send them to their mothers. I admire the hero who stands up for what is true, as truth he always will pursue, but I was squashed by powers who broke me through and through. I admire the solver, the agent of change who does more than only talk, who takes action and walks the walk, but that's not me. I just balk, as I stand there and gawk. I admire the sage who solves conundrums, unknown, the keeper of the philosopher's stone, his wisdom shining all alone, but I only know we'll turn to bone. I admire the earnest man who settles not for the golden calf, who won't compromise or take half. I say, solemnly, on his behalf, life's a joke, let's laugh.