The liberal poet claims to be our friend,

To help us understand and protect us to the end.

They claim to be wise and men of the mind,

Yet all they produce for us is complaints with a whine.

Somehow we are drawn to their words,

But much of what they say is only for the birds.

With rhyme and verse and words of song,

They supposedly help us with what's right and what's wrong.

We are to stop and value their wisdom and smarts,

Respect them as learned men speaking from their hearts.

The truth is and this is hard to say,

Most poets are depressed and in a state of decay.

The Liberal Socialist Poet is a study indeed,

Unfortunately they are the ones in the most need.

They are without friends and desperate you see,

Their soles are damaged and need to be free.

If you look deep into their cry for help,

They are like injured sea mammals stuck in the kelp.

The liberal poet lambastes capitalism at every turn,

He claims if he had money it would be only to burn.

Communism is sexy to this sort of man,

He denies the abuses of past Dictators heavy hands.

If the world were his at is beck and call,

It would only take a few weeks until he ruined it all.

The socialist poet makes us think,

But if we think hard we would not drink.

For his words are bathed in blood,

If only the man, the poet understood.

Those who accomplish nothing in life,

Their words are worthless leading only to strife.