Poetry

To The Impecunious Writer

Impecunious: lacking money, penniless, poor.

________________________________

I pen to the pen that wallows in penury,
To the masters of Art whose fruits of labour sprouts in misery.
Hustling from end to end trying to make ends meet.
Helter skelter for a better shelter, to fish out a daily meat.

Life might leave you in a state of capital poverty,
And royalty may weary to crown your intellect property,
You might have paid the price to win the Prize,
But it seems fantasy is only a bunch of real lies.

Money makes man mad, but poverty is the mad man,
How to paddle off this huddle remains a harm at arm,
Your piece will still… Pay and bring the storm to calm,
Your blessings will have a course to write a thankful Psalm.

This is for you whose music appeals a sad man,
Traverse through the tunnel, the tip thereof lies the light,
Soonest, the poor boy will be a rich man,
And the broke who couldn’t break his fast will break through the limelight.

To he who lacks what it takes,
Give it what it takes,
It takes long-suffering to endure shortcomings,
Await the wait, the glory is forthcoming.

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