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Posted by MFish

Words, spill from my head
Spiraling down,
Some stick to paper,
Most just hit the ground,
A fluttering, floating motion,
With nary any sound.
Such is the plight of a poet,
Who tries so hard to rhyme,
Words into meaning and
Allows so little time,
In talking about a nickel
Or one thin, shiny dime.

Floating in the air
as a moth to the flame,
when he arrived here.
It was never the same,
as he spoke in riddles,
when people gathered around.
His words that he uttered
were very unsound.
"Pay to me your homage,
pay every day or I will
turn this World into pain."
He had no compassion
for woman or man
and lies and stealing was
his primary plan.
Tell them what they want to hear
but do not deliver or keep your word
and soon they will make a King out of you.

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