The poets fallacy

Alive and always unwell searching for inspiration…

To fund a life through stanzas only, in the

twenty-first century,

you’d be appallingly ashamed at your spectacle

-

Many have dined on your pain and agony

The myth of legend is on it’s fifteenth reprint!

Often times your story is no longer how you interpreted it at all

You’re dead and what you have become is cash and an experience to others…

-

Yet no lessons have been learnt,

attention paid when you’re dead and gone

Your love letters burnt

but your partial countenance does in fact, somehow, live on

The ashes of you that remain, disperse allowing jealousy to creep sepially on in…It’s always live how I, we, everybody with a tertiary interest cannot live,let me have your story but please, ‘oh goodness gracious for heavens sake please please please…’ be extremely deceased first!

It’s the on-screen bizarre and perceptually decrepitly mad we tear a part and vilify in the beating heart of the now and alive!
No attempt to direct, inspect or alter our own very personal but often pointlessly incorrect views.

-

Yet, when you die, we love you…