letters typed and hand address'd,

worded to ignore distress;

neatly creased in folds of three

pierce afresh stale misery,

letters of consideration

kill faint hope of liberation,

laser-blazed on textured cotton

reaffirm, "you've been forgotten";

Land of Brave and Home of Free

i wish just once consider'd me;

success to some means status quo,

to others, just a chance to know

the feeling of a bill that's paid,

a chance to feel you've made the grade;

instead they wish me all the best

in spite of talents unaddress'd.

what must one do to gain attention

in sullen times where stark convention

writes the rules of pass or play

and dictates fate for one more day?

it's all about the ones you know

the ones whose favors others owe,

and those of us who seek the prize

read letters full of tender lies

that wish us well with all success

and all the while, they could care less

about the talents rare possess'd . . .

why waste a stamp for 

MY address?

© 2004 by cynth’ya lewis

All rights reserved