None
Would dare admire
The man
Whose work
Is words

If his phrases
Turn their profit
By accepting
Praise
As cash

Since intention
To be heard
Is indecent
Though it
Wishes

All attention
Wasn’t fickle
If still focused
On that
Craft

Staying pure
But left obscene
Like depictions
From his
Being

Showing signs
Of certain weakness
When expressing
Fear
In debt

At conveying
Richest truths
Without proof
Some writers
Suffer

Lining pockets
While intending
Every term
Provide them
Joy

Despite starving
Among lines
Seeking meaning
Not so
Meager

Finding short
And lowly verses
Last forever
If they’re
Poor.

– J. Pigno