The Art of Scamming?
Some questions about how we value one’s creations
How do we define the worth
Of one’s creations?
Does one create to be heard
Or to be valued—
And does one’s value
Enable them to be heard?
Can one’s worth be more
Than a mere value—
A price tag
On all the years of experience—
Or a lack of such
Only to be discovered by luck
While the others sit and sulk
After all the tears that have been dried upon
One’s pillow, at night
Out of sight from those who bask in their own lights
Of a price that has been set by the eyes of the elite—
Those who can afford to have such things that shine
Under the rays of sunlight?
Is it all just a scam
In the hands of those who can
Take and sell as they wish without even a bat
Of an eye because they are part of a society that
Turns a blind eye to the growing plutocrats
While the rest are left to fester in a pestilent nest that receives none but spat—
Or is it all an art in itself
That has manifested from both the ones who expose all of one’s self
And the ones who show none at all
Into the art on display—
The value of which is whatever the price they are willing to pay?