The Price of Poetry

In dollars and cents the value fades
Behind scars and bars built to keep something out
Covers of books close to seal the words in
Concealed on a shelf amidst volumes of verse
Written by dead poets from societies long forgotten
Whose words drift from the pages read in schools and dark bedrooms
That linger a little too long in the minds of broken souls
Sold to imaginary demons in control of lonely hearts
Ridden with guilt from the pain inflicted by themselves
While blaming a deity consumed with power and pride
Extending egotistical tentacles that wrap around a seduced muse
Who inspires more words of worship for self-satisfaction
In a cycle of blinding perpetual fulfillment
Without which no art can exist in dreams or reality
Marked up with price tags too high to pay
Marked down by hearts cut open and bled dry
Until the price of poetry is paid