Sometimes people listen to my fire
and tell me the orange crackle makes them tired
Other people listen to my lines
and say things that are very unkind
People see my words
and announce they are bored.
People hate my poems
but they aren't the reason I compose
lines of fire and ice
with conclusions so concise.
I write to let it all burn
pull me from this black urn
I just might die inside
Because of their lightning chides
My work is for me
So I won't change for thee.
No comments:
Post a Comment