Turbulent Times The Dead Poet 2
A poet is no one till he or she dies
Turbulent Times The Dead Poet 2
They praise your pain
when you’re buried and gone,
frame your words
like you lived it all wrong.
No coins for the hungry
while breathing and broke,
but they quote your sorrow
like a sacred joke.
They sell your name
when your voice is still—
a ghost on paper
they package and bill.
So write it now,
bleed ink, don’t beg—
the poet gets paid
with a toe tag and a peg.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (3)
So sad but true for poets and writers. Good job.
Great work, very haunting ❤️
Nicr ❤️