Inspired by a rock song, a poem of a poor wise man who must steal to make a living.

A Poor Wise Man Stealing

I've got my somber on:
I never made it as a
poor wise man stealing.
I was never that lucky
there's not much use for a
working class prophet
selling existential angst
to overwhelmed gen x'ers.

Now it's impossible to deal dreams.
New generations grow up so fast
in times of strife these days.

I was never a rich man either
buying ideas at an outlet store
where the only souls trying are the
money kids looking for quick relief.
They don't understand the dichotomy.

I was never a jester looking for a false king
to play fool too.
Believe me I know the validity of a good day's work.
My problem I was kicked out of the minstrels union
for not paying my dues. I couldn't afford the rate.

So what do you do with a poor wise man
who steals a loaf of bread so his family can eat?
I'll get a community service rap, help unload pumpkins
at a local church, maybe paint a chapel
in a spiritual bright light, and find a cure for unhappiness.
But it won't help pay the rent.

All I can do is hope
but I've never had the luck.