EJ’s Utopia

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It’s an honour to be a poet

In my own utopia, I am
Living the dream, alright!
I would write to be free

Not as an escape but as a deeper
Layer to living, as a fuller
Realization to feeling
I felt love in words, considerate words

That would reply in
A dozen different ways a second
As a way of self-knowing

Because as a child, I couldn’t speak
I had a stutter and it created
A manuscript in my brain
To become a poet, to become

A frightfully unemployable thing
A poet must remain humble
I’m gifted in humility, simply

It’s an honour to be a poet
That’s an unpopular opinion
Being without a source of profit hurts
But it would hurt more not to write

The brunt of my little pleasure
In this untidy world comes from
Writing it, creating something

Out of nothing, that is more distinctly me
Than you or I could ever guess
In my own utopia, I am not a hero
For I disappear in what I do

That is the peak experience sincerely
When you are gone, no longer
The center of your life, but just

A backwards glance at everybody
In my own Utopia, I’m pretty certain
Every man and woman would
Write a poem…..

5 thoughts on “EJ’s Utopia

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