Bust

You’re only called a poet if you spew
The narrative, embellished with cliché,
In front of phony, fawning traitors who
Will laud the scripted sentiments you say.
And if you help convert some fools you might
Be called a hero, head immortalized
In burnished bronze to symbolize the fight
That keeps the state forever socialized.
Although they speak your words with fervent zeal
Your comrades never truly understood
How freedom of expression helped you pen
Your greatest works that you cannot reveal
Exposing how their system isn’t good,
For you must lie when in the viper’s den.