I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
The goddess demands perfect chastity: Thirty years of dutiful service Tending the hearth that warms reality Ritual and sacrificial practice
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Greed contaminates Aesthetic experience It must be controlled
Defend fools you love Simply because you love them Avoid betrayal
A deranged convict And an exhausted elder Trade non sequiturs
The hideous disease of empire Bifurcates reality completely: There are those who are of use, and others Who will be of use, or vanish neatly
Some will mutter that you are not too bright Most citizens of imagination Are odd in public, but in dreams delight Prone are they to grim self-flagellation
The greatest story Has a design so perfect It's invisible
Let it get weird, confusing and obscure Use the vexing, esoteric diction Infect imaginations; give no cure Generate a poetic addiction
They will sneer and deceive and betray And your dignity will remain pristine They will cast a shadow on your bright day
There will come a day When complaints and excuses Outnumber essays
Some grim foes seem colossal, gigantic We dwindle into insignificance Faced with them, few can remain romantic Against such monsters, hope has little chance
What sort of author Gives you a life you must fight Merely to sustain?
