I Saw, was Conquered and Defeated

People often laughed,
When they read what I had to say.
At my arbid thoughts,
the asymmetry,
non-rythmic patterns.
Of being - 'too conversational'.
Sometimes even gruesome and morbid.

I was young then -
With undaunted talent,
and a soul which absorbed.
Owing to my inexperience, I swore and spat -
Ears burning and eyes smarting.
I lashed out, angry at their inability to understand,
and mine to make them.
"I am the poet!", I screamed and cursed at them
for having given in - all lapse of reason and question.
Blind acceptance.

And then -
I grew older and calmed down.
I now write about,
Beauty and goodness.
I sell. People love me.
Those same people.

I accepted defeat, and 'I am still the poet',
Whose soul is dead.