God wish were I a poet
Then would I sing the stars
My every thought formed golden
My farts canned dear in jars
I’d be pompous I’d be stuffy
I’d bask aglow in my littered lane
I’d be wicked on how I’d suffer
I’d sigh whisper curse and blame
Locked doors my way would open
Charms my way befall
My heart would lie still frozen
My soul a cold and vacant hall
Young bodies next to mine would lie
Old fingers dry and bare
Men half my age but old enough
For whom I would not care
And near enough and dear enough
Remembrance would strongly stare
Sadly at this life of page
Real life neither dreamed nor dared
And so I wish such glories mine
My name caressed dumb in stone
Glories heaped and weaped upon
While I lie dust and bone