Self proclaimed

Poets, we the poets
happy or unhappy
content or disgruntled
are we
with life, are we
poets, we the poets
trying to be or acclaimed already
are we
sad or mad, as you like it
poets , are we
our idiosyncrasies
poetic ego albeit

Soft as gel
with tears in eye
we cry, poets are we
Hard as nut
to critics
burning night oil
until we are blind
for a paradise lost
or as Shelly did write-
to be a nightingale
sitting in darkness
to cheer it’s own solitude
we the poets
are we…

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