Paths

The poets life is noble, true.
But there is so much more that you can do.
And yet with twisted satisfaction,
You write your fears, and your reactions.
Why must you choose the Frosted path?
Why must you throw out the baby with the bath
Water? It’s not life and death, it’s not
The end of the world. All lives are wrought
With choices made. And sometimes it’s glen,
Or forest, or glade. I don’t know when
But being different chose you.
You can’t deny you’re different too.
So write volumes, and books, and verse,
And publish so you can fill your purse.
Block out the world that says you can’t,
You won’t, you shouldn’t, you shan’t.
Embrace emotion, embrace the light.
Embrace the dark and moonless night.
But be prepared for harder times.
Be prepared for well-fare lines.
Be prepared to starve and suffer,
Be prepared to loose a lover.
It’s in all of this you shall find peace.
You’ll rise above the world beneath.
Work hard, young one, Keep your eye on the prize.
Don’t forsake the hellos and good-byes.
Write your fears, expose the real you
For the honest life is the most noble too.