It feels like shouting into the wind,
your naked knowledge on display,
passed over with not even a comment.
You give your all, but none return.
There are fires in every other corner
to hook the dopamined eye.
~ Those hours spent searching for the word -
are they better spent in other ways? ~
In search of bright exchanges,
the chance to interact with a fan;
to philosophise together and fix the world.
Maybe you’ll be famous after you're dead;
everyone will know your name -
but what is the use of that?
Written for an AllPoetry contest using the Stanzuka form.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 