No greater insult can a poet's heart fend
Than having burned his candle at both ends
In expressions of pure, unfettered love
With beaten brow, and iron glove.
No greater spit upon his face
Can one true poet e'er embrace
Than to deny all mortal and fleshly thrones
And cast his lots on true love's bones.
No greater kick within the crotch
Can truth withstand than true love's watch;
For so the poet will embrace
The lonely life and spat-on face,
But nothing worse can his ear turn
Than to hear the deafening, damning burn
Of his lover's voice sincere profess'
That he writes from simple loneliness.
For had it been, he would have who*ed—
With whipping cane and blazoned sword;
For had he gone that route, for sure,
He would have bludgeoned all that's pure.
But the poet's heart is great and true;
To write undaunted, triumph's hue,
He separates the thickest cream
And smears it in a sultry dream;
And who he loves shall bear the mark
Of midnight candle's majestic spark,
For eternal shall their memory be
Never lonely...
Never sunken in the sea.
To all great poets, hold fast these words:
To accept this insult— the absurd of absurds!
For you are lonely never more,
Embraced on every land and shore!
My ship has surged throughout the night
In exhausted flames and candle bright,
And when my candle has been doused,
You'll hear these words of friendly spouse.
No greater insult can a poet's heart fend
Than having burned his candle at both ends;
Never appreciated, never justly said—
Hold fast your bloody, bludgeoned head!
No more accept these caustic words
Or perceive your cream as tasteless curds,
Nor condemn yourself to be abased
With lonely life and spat-on face.
For the worldly may perceive your days
As solemn ones with sullen gaze,
And the gem within your heart may say
You love her not, to your dismay.
But hear me, from the Highest Court,
(And affix yourself on this report):
The poet bears the souls of all—
The highest rank; the godly call.
Your voice is loved beyond your years;
Your d**h is filled with friendly tears.
I set asail for the Severing Shore,
To cast hope upon the Threshing Floor.
At last, She calls to quench my light…
My ship's afire;
“Both ends, burn bright'.”