None of you write as well as I do.

None of you blog as well as I do.

You want to spread lies around like pastries at a tea party?

You and your shallow lives.

Your petty vindictiveness at trivial insults.

Your egos without substance like rattling poltergeists

When you, with your comfortable lives

your minor inconveniences

Have walked through the halls of hell

and emerged alive

Perhaps then, you will have earned the right to speak

and be heard.

Because then you will have something

genuine to say.

For now you continue

to spout your shallow claims to empty profundity

while your non-existent souls find

no place to prove you deserve

to exist


Shelley knew of what he spoke
And all these fools ‘neath ego’s yoke
Are shattered on the desert sand
to be forgot before they stand
Little men of little worth
With empty words do they give birth
To fiction lacking in earnest heart.

Emptiness doth they impart

— anonymous