Fame At Any Cost Poem by John Fenton Mcleish

Imprisonment, death the only things left
Propel me into immortality
Of inspiration I am bereft
Tell, is fame worth more than morality

If one lacks an artistic state of mind
Then induce it artificially
With the devil a contract I do bind
And sell my soul to Mephistopheles

Though I do not lust for power, treasure
Gold palaces, beautiful women
Desire is desire in any measure
And only love will get you to heaven

A red rose lies withered upon the ground
Wisdom and knowledge nowhere to be found
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