Everyone needs a good poem
Who could disagree?
So the Bureau of Standards in Agreement
of what we all doth need.
Established a law; all by themselves.
The law read thusly: This is the way that it shall be.
To everyone who hath no poem
a poem shall be freely given; and likewise inverted
To everyone who hath more than one poem
poems shall be freely taken.
And everyone agreed in agreement
This law was surely good,
mostly because it felt that way.
So by coercion they took poems
from the more fortunate, the lucky, the poets
and from all of those who where blessed by whatever
gods there be, to have and to hold, to feel and to know, poems.
The Poem Police were ruthless.
They took poem after poem by force
until the poets were poor
in sprit and in truth
Saying: what is the use?
of tilling and hoeing
of raking and sowing
of struggling by the sweat of the brow, to reap
just to have it taken away; and unappreciated at that.
The takers allocated
while the bureaus produced bureaus.
And everybody reported to somebody,
The Poem Police reported to:

The bureau of the ………………….Poem  Police
who reported to The bureau of  Oversight
who reported to The bureau of  Language Use
who reported to The bureau of  Investigation
who reported to The bureau of  Common Unity
who reported to The bureau of  Everything
who themselves, as a public manifestation
of their ethical propriety, graciously
reported to The Bureau of Standards in Agreement.
Therefore everybody knew that all was fair and just.
But, there was one big problem.
Perfectly good poems were spilt, ruined
and simple lost all along the way.
And the lazy wanted more free poems
and they treated the poets with contempt.
And the poets grew weary, tired, and frustrated.
Saying: Poems should be exempt!
Times got so bad that one couldn’t even push one
perfectly good poem down the bureau chain
to it’s rightful owner, the needy.
Before the poem would get even halfway down the chain
It would completely vanish, gone into thin air.
It simply ceased to exist, evaporated.
No level of accounting could account for it.
It was gone. That is all that anybody knew.
And everybody knew that.
The lazy began using poems as floor mats.
The poets hid them in their cupboards
The children grew spiritually skinny, physically fat,
without form and void
wanting only affirmation
idle, hour upon hour.
The poets lost hope.
The lazy bellyached.
The bureaus begat bureaus.
And Life was; As Life is.

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