Living in a Castle

By daiglepoems

Inheritence is nice.
Some eminent domain.
A lucky roll of the dice
could spell your gravy train.

People in low places
live a high lifestyle,
though most are basket cases.
Me?
I stepped in a pile.

Went from down and out without
devices or utensils
and pulled a rabbit out
with some paper, pens, and pencils.

I thought:

I'll paint a pretty picture.
I'll write a gripping tale.
Concoct a sort of mixture
and call it "Love for Sale."

I wrote a poem called "Everything".
A bit of this and that.
A roll of tape.
A ball of string.
A piece of cardboard mat.

Had a book without a buyer,
but hey!
What else is new?
Paid the town crier.
Got a rave review.

"...esterical and mystic...
...such creativity...
...syntactic and artistic...
...a genius...
...prodigy..."

I sold a million copies.
Then sold a million more.
Abandoed my jalopies
and bought a four by four.

Now I'm living in a castle
tax and worry free,
without a hindrance or a hassle.
Just writing poetry.

I love the USA.
I'm lazy AND I'm rich.
I might of had to work someday.
That'd really be a bitch.