Failure

[Hawkman]

Nothing quite succeeds like failure,
honestly, it’s true;
just look around and count the duds
outnumbering the few who reach the crest.

I have turned my failure into art;
I revel as I peddle it, on corners,
in the street,
wondering if barefoot prose and poetry is meet—
should I try to earn a wage to shoe my feet?

Perhaps.

But generally, I feel, I prefer to keep it real,
as suffering for art is really neat.

I could run away to Paris
and hang around Montmartre,
smoking fags and drinking wine
pretending that I’m Sartre
or Emile Zola.

Then again, they say that Barcelona’s pretty cool;
Bah! What do they take me for, a fool?

When the temperature is rising
and you spend your time despising
how you sweat, or better yet,
succumb to salmonella
from the three day old paella that you scrounged,
as you lounged,
unfound,
your genius unrecognised;
you might as well have stayed at home
and sulked.

Oh, what the heck—
just peer at the world by internet.
At least indoors it doesn’t tend to rain
and keeping dry might mitigate
the pain of being sane.
It’s comforting to know that when we fail
we’re all the same; having lost it all,
the hope, the dope, the plot.

[DieterM]

Thoroughly enjoyed the read, especially the no hope-no dope-bit (of course, how can there be hope, pray tell, when dope's all finished and gone to smoke? lol). And, naturally too, the Montmartre bit 'cuz did it, hung, smoked, drank, and it's just soooo overrated (this being said with a very blasé voice). Just two typos, Emil Zola rather loves his "E" (Emile), as Monsieur Sartre cannot do with his 2 "R"s. Best from the posh side of Paris (after having ratholed near Montmartre) from D.

[Hawkman]

OOps! I stand corrected, thank you Dieter I do rather like Paris, but I quite like anywhere that isn't here - lol. Thanks so much for reading correcting and enjoying

Live and be well - H