If I were a Poet

In dedication to all weavers of words. The poet dissects the poet.

If I were a poet,
            I would throw rhymes in the garbage,
                      slaughter the Kings English,
                                and refuse to make references to any known literature.

If I were a poet,
            I would live a tragic life,
                    have no fame until well after my death,
                                after which I would be considered an innovative genius.

If I were a poet,
            I would write words tall as the Twin Towers,
                          then after droves of critics demolished them
                                          I would sit in the rubble eating alphabet soup.

If I were a poet,
            I would die the death of every common person,
                        the only difference being,
            I would be resurrected in a universe full of words
                        i could only understand sung on the lips of childish innocence,