Those reasons that you must believe are just why I cannot.
I neither sacrifice the vices nor the gifts that I have got.
Where you are a believer, I would be made a hypocrite.
I won't accept that. I am not like you, not virtuous.
My two favorite things in the world are sin
and hanging out with Methodists.
Talk about cognitive dissonance.
Such is the life of a deist.
They give no tax breaks, nor a wage
For bearing and raising new life on a page.
I shelter them from waking 'til going to bed.
The people I know best only live in my head.
Talk about a strange contradiction.
Such is the life of a writer of fiction.
I am no humanist. I've no faith in my race.
No reason to expect I can keep up a pace
and craft text -- meter, rhyme, and words that mean all,
Like a bridge built in pieces, with the hope it won't fall,
Held together by bolts, tiny little punctuation.
My hobby is a recipe, in lyric, for destruction.
So much care to build it, and one word to blow it --
Such is the life of a poet.
No comments:
Post a Comment