Still I Sink

Still I rise, still I rise

she rises, while I think

she rose, but in this reprise

all I do is sink.

And who wants to hear

of the poet’s woes

the only thoughts welcome to our ear

are those which echo our own.

Still I sink, still I sink

and like a penny I hit

the jar’s bottom with a chink

and, resenting, still I sit.

For who wants to see

a soaring bird decline

the only heroes welcomed by history

are those of blood divine.

Still I sink, still I sink

I am not divine

and the words written in this ink

not worthy to enshrine.

I rose once, like Icarus in the air

and nearly touched the sun

For a few moments I lingered there

and then my glory was done.

Perhaps this is the moment when

the real artists are rooted from those

who wished only to be extraordinary men

(who rose once, as I rose)

Still I rise, still I rise

I watch them and I think

Still, this is one of the better lies

as I sink, as I sink.

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