Tony DeLorger (26/09/06)
Penniless and prostrate I ponder why I’m here,
The footprints of my predecessors embossed upon my fear.
Striving for perfection a hallowed journey pledge,
The honing of my craft you see has brought me to the edge.
For whose perfection do I strive, if not my internal drive?
Could it be perhaps I’m chasing wind in order to survive.
Why does the art be judged on rules when contents almost lost?
And me so wound within its threads, what I’m saying now forgot.
With writers hearts upon their sleeves they sit upon a wall,
With critics pelting stones at them to see how soon they’ll fall.
So I guess I’ll be a stubborn twit, too stupid to call it quits,
And continue to do just what I love, until I fall to bits.
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