Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Writer

I don’t care for your politics,
I have my own.
I don’t mind your rhetoric,
but please post-pone,
your desires to breed,
your opinions in me.

I am a writer,
that’s all I need.
I see your fire,
record its greed.
Take my oxygen,
incubate its seed.
But hear my warning,
listen and heed:

I’ve no idea,
what you do,
when you’re alone,
and you play the fool.
Whether with purpose,
or ignorant cool,
from you I guess,
the latter’s your tool.

See I’m a writer,
and it is my place,
to record the fire,
unmask its seething grace.
Whether light and loving,
or dark and dying,
your fire’s my muse,
and I’ve nothing better to do.

So remember please,
when within reach,
that I am a writer,
and I’ve lessons to teach.
Either through story,
or with rhythm, I preach,
everything that you,
might wish to beseech.

For I am a writer,
and it is my calling,
words never tire,
but silence is appalling,
When down to the wire,
my pen is scrawling,
or my wrists are afire,
from fingered keys a-crawling,
cause I am a writer,
and what’s more, never stalling.

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