Saturday, April 16, 2016

Poet Liars

There are those who call themselves poets
When nothing could be further from the truth
They hardly scratch the surface
And don’t know what it means to really burn

There are no confessions in academia
Only books and theorems and loose nukes
And the pseudo street poets are no better
Trading in their souls for arcane carp

A muse reveals nothing if your mirror is grey and cloudy
Priding yourself on being a fugitive makes no inroads if your third eye is insolvent
And once upon a time means zip if you refuse to leave your bubble and be real

Poet liars are a dime a dozen as the twelve gates to the city lead us astray
And I am sick and tired of hiding my light under a bushel of average thoughts
I burn like a roman candle as I sacrifice everything to sharpen my writing chops

Charles Cicirella

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