by Wright Penn
A writer's disgust against other so-called established writers and reviewers
|I will not clap at you,
Because you are a fool,
I write about seasons in hue,
But you are petty and cruel.
I write about changing times,
And you are still stuck in time old,
My words flow like streams,
And your words get stuck cold.
I am new, doesn't mean I am a moron,
Doesn't matter if they(my work) don't fit your mould,
Atleast I write about things that mean
To me, unlike you who write for a bag of gold.
I don't care much for name and fame,
On the other side you live to be in the frame,
I struggle to see my work in the bookstore's pane,
And you take the credit for just sitting plain.
If you want to criticize me,
Write something to raise the bar,
I will gladly follow thee,
Not afraid to fall afar.
Wish I could understand your mind,
Then I will paste them, for all to see your kind.
How bloated you are with pride,
Come across a new writer, you cast aside and chide.