John Francis Missett

For My Rivals

I don't want to lapse into the promiscuity.
Lapsed Idealisms obscurity.
As around me religions and religious' fail.
Nor do I want to write my poetry and prose.
From within the confines of some jail?
Or see my poetry turn into the paperwork?
For someone else's love affairs?
Rather I'd see my heart turn against?
The sacrilegious acts of The Pen.
Clutched in the uncaring money stained hands.
Of, my rivals, other men.