Young Writers Society

We were told to encorperate platitudes into our poem (platitudes basically being overused, useless statements) and this is what I came up with.



I hope you enjoy, A Selfish Man. 



Revised



A man of paltry gratitude,

Wandered the crowded, bustling roads,

Coming up with a platitude,

On the road near the swampy toads.



“Why don’t you just grow up,” He yelled,

To a girl crying by a tree,

She stopped sobbing and lay their felled,

But the selfish man did not see.



“Get a job,” was what he then said, 

To a homeless man drenched in a ditch,

He cried out for he hadn’t been fed, 

But the selfish man was too rich.



“Why don’t you smile more,” he exclaimed,

As a slave was beaten for more,

He fell and lay there tired and maimed, 

But the selfish man was to sore.



“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” He cried,

As an old man vainly climbed stairs, 

He toppled over and there he died, 

But the selfish man wouldn’t even glare.



As the man of paltry gratitude, 

Wandered the crowded, bustling roads,

Coming up with a platitude, 

He tripped there, by the swampy toads.



As he lay there drowning in mud, 

A girl yelled, “Why don’t you grow up”

She then ran away, her tears a flood,

But he was drinking mud from a cup.



As he lay drowning in the dirt,

A homeless man said, “Get a job,”

And he squelched away, filthy and hurt,

But the selfish man’s ears were a throb. 



As he sunk down, under the horrid muck, 

A slave cried, “Why don’t you smile more,”

He then hobbled away in search of luck, 

But the selfish man was at death’s door. 



And as he drew that final, gasping breath, 

An old man cried, “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

And floated away over translucent death, 

And finally the selfish man saw himself. 





Original



A man of paltry gratitude,

Wandered the bustling roads,

And would come up with a platitude,

On the road by the swampy toads.



“Why don’t you just grow up,” He yelled,

As a little girl lay crying by a tree,

She stopped sobbing and lay there as if felled,

But the selfish man did not see.



“Get a job,” was what he then said, 

To a homeless man drenched in a ditch,

He cried out in pain as he hadn’t been fed, 

But the selfish man was much to rich.



“Why don’t you smile more,” he exclaimed,

As a slave was beaten to do more,

He fell and lay there tired and maimed, 

But the selfish man was too weary and sore.



“Stop feeling sorry for your self,” He cried,

As an old man struggled vainly up stairs, 

He toppled over and there, slowly he died, 

But the selfish man would not spare a glare.



As the man of paltry gratitude, 

Wandered the bustling roads,

Coming up with hurtful platitude, 

He tripped and slipped by the swampy toads.



As he lay there drowning in the mud, 

A little girl yelled, “Why don’t you just grow up”

She then ran away, her tears a flood,

But he was busy drinking mud from a cup.



As he lay drowning in the dirt,

A homeless man said, “Get a job,”

And he squelched away, filthy and hurt,

But the selfish man’s ears were a throb. 



As he sunk down, under the muck, 

A slave cried, “Why don’t you smile more,”

He then hobbled away in search of some luck, 

But the selfish man was at death’s door. 



And as he drew that final, gasping breath, 

An old man cried, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,”

And floated away over translucent death, 

And finally the selfish man glimpsed himself.