Poetry / Wasteland of Poets

It's like a desert,

Full of lizards, snakes, and scorpions

Dusty sand and whispering waves of heat

Drying up every creative thought.

The white withered bones

Of lost travelers lay scattered

Like game pieces or some voodoo bones

Abandoned by soothsayers

Of the lost arts.

Behind every ignoble effort

Reptiles seek prey

Like merchants in the halls of GOD

Feigning innocence as they sell forgiveness

To take just one more cold blooded bite

For the less than worthy effort

Another dollar and "Yes!'

You are an artist. A natural talent! How amazing!"

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