The Trade Poem by Michael Moorcroft

Sold his soul for fame,
Thought it through in his mind,
Like it was some game,
Losing things he’d find.

His friends became his critics,
The cameras his new allies,
So many bought his tickets,
His life filled with goodbyes.

A table booked for one,
He never felt so alone,
He turned into a swan,
But home – they never phone.

Sat upon his throne,
He didn’t feel a thing,
His confidence had grown,
He had his wealth, he’d never be poor.

He sold his soul for fame.

© Michael Moorcroft August 25th 2009