Finds rhyme between the lines,
but life itself has no rhythm;
every word has a deep meaning,
but life itself has no fathom.

Written either with a pen
or printed on a paper,
its worth for ‘the minority’
is more than a skyscraper.

Paid a few cents or a dollar,
not for wisdom but for a page;
die slowly out of desperation and unemployment
with advancing age.

Some hit the jackpot overnight;
others fade away without recognition.
Many turn their backs on poetry;
a few face the reality and fight.