Mildly Haughty

In attempting to execute the plan stated in my previous post, I found my muse once again and wrote this poem. I am not exceedingly pleased with how it came out, but its good enough. It may be revised, expanded or both, but for now I deem it postworthy. I am unsure of a good title, but it is a mildy haughty poem, and shall be title such, at least temporarily.

A Mildly Haughty But Honest Poem

As the days pass,
The tides come and go,
The trees die and come back to life,
I sit in my chair
Listen to Beethoven
Read Vonnegut
Drink Iced Coffee
And try to pen the next
Great work of art.

The world changes,
Friends come and go,
And I try to be the next
Fitgerald, P. Vergilius Maro or
Bukowski sober.

And 99 percent of my friends,
Acquaintances and enemies try
To become the next businessman,
Lawyer, doctor, or high school teacher,
And
I try to become the next
Tennyson, Yeats, Dante.
And my closest friends died
Before I was born,
And never knew them.
And they find their
Friends in neighbors, classmates et cetera.
Sometimes I wonder if it would be
A favorable existence to live
The other way,
Then I realize that I am not being
True to myself.