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Poem: Creativity: A Poet’s Boss?
A artistic particular person
Has no boss:
In any case, creativity
Itself is the boss,
The method is the boss:
To create one thing
Out of nothing,
Is the true pleasure of life.
Thus,
Bosses grow to be irrelevant:
Bosses really feel like strangers,
Who’re finally compelled
To resign and are quickly forgotten.
In any case, bosses are mediocre
And can’t situation marching orders;
Can’t power a poet to carry out
Menial, mundane and trivial duties.
A poet is just not like
The lots: the poet
Is an ethereal being,
Who has a protracted and
Intimate dialog
Along with his muse in odd
Venues and at ungodly hours:
A poet has a date with future.
A poet creates spontaneously
And can’t be confined to
The 4 partitions of a room,
Whether or not a jail cell,
Or an workplace area or a classroom.
Poetry wants room to breathe
Freely, in any case, within the open
Air and wild jungle in
The lap of Mom Nature.
A murals can’t
Be commanded into
Being by a military
Basic or Warlord.
An autocrat and dictator
Of a Failed State or Banana Republic
Can’t bark at a poet
Like a wild, prairie canine,
Anticipating a genius
To undergo his needs
Like a slave to his grasp.
Mercifully, the lots notice
Their mistake, bow to cause,
Push, shove and protest,
And, lastly, the boss falls into
An empty void of obscurity,
Which results in oblivion.
A poet is a delicate soul,
Who ignores those that
Disturb the peace, create noise,
Name consideration to themselves,
And display loutish
And boorish conduct in
Public locations and well mannered society.
A poet, artistic soul,
Studies to no one else
Save for his muse;
An internal and silent understanding,
Which nudges the poet
On to a hidden pursuit
Resulting in the emancipation
Of our human race.
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