STORY OF A DEAD POET

Dead ink
Far too lifeless to lift its page
Was performed by one
Who was far too dull
To light the stage
Lacking substance
Too weak to move the crowd
Proceeded to raise them up
But only brought them down
Abuse echoed from the audience
Among faces unimpressed
One voice shouted
Rubbish
While another said
Give it a rest
But as if unaware or unconcerned
The poet continued to recite
Taking pride in his poor pathetic piece
That took so long to write
He stood bold and direct
Like a brave soldier
Against an army as he read
Expecting glorification
But was ridiculed instead