It\'s Who You Know - Sonnet
We\'re saddened when \"they\" give themselves the prize,
referred to as the literary throne.
How ironic prior to \"their\" demise,
\"they\" find the time to pass it to \"their\" own -
who now convince the world how great \"they\" were,
expressing this by word, by mouth, by deed.
Yet, there are those of us who don\'t concur,
sequoias of the world not of \"their\" seed.
For \"we\" abandon life to pen our verse,
betrothed to words that lust the vellum page,
exposing nepotism\'s ugly curse
upon artistic minds, \"we\" vent our rage.
As pressure builds the lava flow\'s abrupt
when bearded mountains, white with time, erupt.