The Gods of Poetry

by

Paul E Sexton

The Gods of poetry
have lost their way.

Enthroned
pontiff,
in imaginary splendor.

Spent, and void of feeling.

We must endure them.
While sitting in straight backed chairs
at bookstores,
or art galleries.

Or worse yet,
on the internet.
Where narcissistic
Charlie Brown Grown-up
droning
seems even less human,
if that’s possible.

>From empty desperation
and lonely isolation
they abuse us
endlessly,
with their soulless words.

While we would rather
be looking at the sun
or our children’s faces.
Or writing Poetry
about the living.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Disintegrate
by: Elena Toledo
from: Miami, FL, US

To visit all of Paul E Sexton's poems, click HERE

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