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It's a little more tongue-in-cheek than most of my stuff, but the only thing that isn't too maudlin. I have a long way to go as a poet (and a bad habit of writing poems about writing poems), so give me some suggestions, please!
The Proof
It will not be When my first major foray into the literary world Is greeted with critical acclaim Read widely, And propelled to the top of local book club lists,
Nor When my second work is perceived as Somewhat lackluster, Too deviant from my first effort And really just a cheap copy of it.
It will not be after my tumultuous descent, After I fade into obscurity Or after I achieve a tragic death in poverty.
Perhaps years later, When the virtues of my work are quietly rediscovered And the revival begins, Culminating in posthumous lifetime achievement awards And general recognition as a misunderstood Mistreated genius, ahead of my time?
No, not even then.
It won’t be until my least inspired piece Selected by some myopic professor and Accompanied by a grossly oversimplified And mildly inaccurate biography
Appears in the glossy pages of a weighty literature book Where disgruntled teenagers are compelled By some charmingly spacey English teacher, hoping To inspire a thirst for literary quality, To read it.
How glorious, their groans! As they lament their boredom And my corresponding irrelevance! Oh, what rapturous proof of my validity, As they waste away their tragic evenings Subject to the unmitigated torture of acquainting themselves With the fruits of my lifetime of exhausted effort.
Yes, only then When I and all I struggled to achieve is despised By high school students the world over, Then I will have joined that vast, elite circle Of literary greatness.
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