Disgusted,
As the dirt clings
So far below, yet
Not a world removed
I often cringe that I must share
This very air
With you.
Perhaps,
You see yourself a snake
And pride your cunning mind
Relishing as prey
Those you do malign;
Though as for me, I must confess,
I see your greed
As more a trait of swine.
I wonder
That you fail to see,
How very seen you are.
Muddy, murky puddle
Don't you know?
You will never be a star.
You pretend where pretense dies,
For you cannot steal a poet's heart.
- - -
For all the thieves of verse and art.
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