A Poet’s Chore

by | Nov 27, 2005 | Poetically Correct

We are like the dinosaur

No one sees us anymore

Our pterodactyl metaphor

You’ve but chosen to ignore

Like victims of an unseen war

You’re hiding out behind a door

But all the Gods are keeping score

What was shall be as was before

And all the poets apiece implore

But peace cannot begin to roar

While every dollar has its whore

Slaves to scrub the Master’s floor

His pitcher full of souls to pour

He’s a greedy collecting connoisseur

And so we grieve the lonely poor

On their island from our shore.

Ciera S. Louise c. November 27, 2005