What's that badge of honour?
Some pin it on their chest
Wear it like a million dollars
Others fancy dress.
I should be decisive although I ain't...
What's the vision?
Where's the complaint?
To know him is to love him
Who I am I know ...
Could be another a trajectory?
Some fast - others slow?
I really don't know.
Who gets the honour for all that men achieve?
Can you pray to Madonna? worship fame, or greed, or pity, or something worse..
I am off on a rant!
But they invoke the curse!!
Help!!!
Change coarse...who is blind as my servant? or deaf as my messenger that I sent?
Seeing many things, observing not: opening the ears, hearing not.
Devoid of all commotion, in a princely reign?
Rags could be your honour...bloody moths again!
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Author:
Valiantstar (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 3rd, 2026 08:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
They say cloths make the man I say the man makes the clothes. Nicely written my friend
nicely written
A well-written poem. Your poem serves as a meditation on the ethics of creation and the emotional weight that comes with artistic inspiration. It raises questions about the cost of creativity and the responsibility artists have toward their sources of inspiration. You blow me away with this poem, my friend.
As implied in your last line, 'could' is the operative word.
Penultimate line I thouht, at first glance, read 'Donald of all commotion, in a princely reign?'
Well, Valiantstar...that certainly went places. 😂 By the time the moths showed up, I figured surrender was probably my safest option. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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