The world understands nay struggle:
It is like speaking French in China,
Or Yoruba in Greece, or in Ghana
Arabic--it's a communication horrible!

But success, however awkward
It doth sound, has an audible voice,
Which is louder than the clangours
Of thunders that ring from heavenward.

The speech of poorness is scarcely
Heard in one's kith and kin's ears;
Whilst riches talk with dainty lips,
Whether foul tunes out they breathe.

Words set to music
give the body tonic--
poetic melody:

rhymes, rhythms, caesuras,
meters, beats, stanzas
and envoys
in use.

Making millions of dollars
off an album,
platinum
pop stars:

hounded by paparazzi,
landed in a Jaccuzi;
deified are poets--

pursued by Muse's mustang
midst the prairies
of inspiration
trotting.

Poetry draws no pretty penny,
prizes like the Nobel
praise.

Mummy poetry is exhaling
in the lyrical pantheon
of music.