The Life Of A Poet

If a man has yet found what he’ll die for,
he’s yet fit to be a man

And that’s why you closed your eyes
you crossed your heart
and dotted your pin amidst the three genres

Voila! It’s poetry.
You began to scribble things
scribble things
scribble things

People began to call you poet
for the fireworks of your poetry
spreading everywhere

You gained respect.
You gained regret.
You gained both

Like boat on a foamy sea
seeing situation of your life
flunctuating

You have hope
you’re doing your thing
knowing well the rewards
are few coins,
wooden or metal shields
you place on your shelf
to brag to your boys
“look at all I’ve achieved”

Oh full time poets!
You’re squirels
squirels eat what is found
squirels sleep many nights unfed
no one knows it
for simile smiles in your voice
assonanc dances on your tongue

Like government workers
immortality is your gratuity
something you can’t put on the table
to feed your boys

Yes, in words,
poetry has made you rich so rich
yet financially
you can’t be rich like Bill Gate

You knew it yet
you resign to poetic fate.

In fact,
Its faithfulness that makes a poet;
the devotion to nothingness.

Samuel C. Enunwa aka samueldpoetry

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