Poets…Lovers and Gamblers

Poets’ minds and dreamscapes
Miasmas of grey splendour
Words that create worlds
Wishes that come true
Within a prism of colours
Splendid Creations
They Live

But the pots stay empty
The coffee drank stay gone
Just dying dregs
On a drying mug
Bills on the floor
Nothing much there
Brilliant Poets are always poor

So work the world without colours
Live a coughing life on rough cement
Nothing going nothing done
Without big fat bank accounts
Words live and die on passing winds
a little better than sighing farts
Brilliant poets are best remembered dead.