Why Poets Are Egomaniacs

by A. Sea Herndon

Why Poets Are Egomaniacs

You do not have to burn the bad ones,

they will fade away. And the good ones,

if it is meant to be, will remain.

A thing of Beauty is a joy for

some, a bore for some, a chore for some,

forever and ever and ever

for some. But if they last dear Poet,

you will never know it, you will not.

Remain, that is. We carve our headstones

with our own two hands. Write well. Farewell,

my friends, I too, like you, soon will end.

But what strange shape will take my place here?

Will ravens or lilacs guard my door?

Red, red roses or nightingales form?

The world has little room for poems

far little less for those called poets.

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