Your Poetry Dot Com - Love And Money: The Slave Trade

Nothing pays like rejection.
Its an employer to the pitiful mind,
and an eventuality painted,
for the artist, in angst.

Everything's overworked in its factories.
And in exhaustion, love resigns the
mind, furiously turning its cogs in
burning ratios, enslaved to the
wage of smouldering hatred.

And finally, when realisation is retirement,
old and spent of youth,
rejection fades into receivership,
never profitable,
and always ineffective.

But without the application, there is no eventuality
as the smell of ozone winds, solemnly
bequeath the last warmth of summers,
consumed by such emotion.

It is often true that only the slave knows
the true value of freedom.

And now, I am free.

This poem is Copyright © neptunes_first