SO LONG, MISTER POET

Mister poet, how dare you make believe
And speak of unthinkable things
Even those, that cannot be!

Mister poet, you’re technically guilty
Of sharing your fabricated dreams
In forms of written fantasies

This man, I say
Is an errant alone.
For he breaks so passionately,
Our societal monotones.

He’ll sell you his words
And his precarious verbs,
And his euphemisms
Of an unrequited love

He'll call the winters
In the grumpy rains,
He’ll adjust an uncut summer
Within an incident of pain

An outlaw as such
This man must be crushed
And erased from existence
Must be his fragrant touch 

We’re too afraid, mister poet,
But we’d have to let you go.
However, you’re a good penman,
So keep writing more.

Ahead of us, on a day when
Man could return back to civilisation,
May be we come together and meet again
So long, mister poet; so long until then.

-K.G.