Writing Such An Egocentric Art Poem by Patti Masterman

Writing, such an egocentric art;
And who called for it to exist,
And why is this ones words
More to be relished, than that ones?
Who has the truth and who the remnants?
The biggest ego wins in all things;
As the lesser ones call a truce, from humility alone,
The bigger one moves in stealthily
To fill up the enlarging room
With his engorged bulk;
Soon becomes full and throbbing
With self importance:
He resembles another element
Commonly found in the presence of mankind-
A noisy engine, of predictable annoyance
Repeating it's own name, like a mantra.