Guilt wears the mask of an angel child
Vultures dressed in feathers of eagles wild
The priest a prostitute that sells salvation
A teacher for a farthing sells her naked education
We vend our thoughts, our hopes and dreams
Trade houses, yachts and a smile that gleams
Some sell their skill, pieces of ourselves, sweat or time
As a commodity sold on shelves, prostitution's no crime
When it comes to love we all put on a glove dressed in atire fine
Put on our best face, to come in first place, we wine and dine
Men want sex women more complex, money, image and power
To get our fill we all pay the bill, forget romance don't bring a flower
A therapist sells their time, a teacher what she understands
A poet their rhyme, a doctor sells his hands
To get what we want we rely on detente, selling from our personal store
In trade a deal is made, leaving our cloths on the floor
But those that sell their skin and let others taste their body
violate the thin shell of false virtue, a product we call naughty
Each and every one with our own gun, a mercenary and what's more
We all sell ourselves as prostitutes that constitutes every one as a whore
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: November 25th, 2025 03:16
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments2
Good write SB. Yu got any farthings? They could be worth load these days.
Thanks Orchi for the review it is always most appreciated. I gave all my far things away I only have near things now.
Might profound and powerful, we are all whores for something, this one is truly a wake-up call, we live in such a material world, filled with ugliness and hate and something has to make it all better, a reflection of a mirror is a good start. Simply brilliant poetry my dear sorrenbarret 🌹
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