My poems

A collection of poems I've written - all different, possible similar themes.


8. The Price They'll Pay

Playing guitar,

That is a rock star

Arrogant and vain

With money and fame

Sunglasses to hide

All the drink’s snide

With whores all over the bed

Giving them head

Fan’s follow them religiously

To hotel suites of luxury

With the latest looks in Elle

Body and camera theirs to sell

It’s more than just music, you know

It’s a lifestyle – the one they chose

Why should you have sympathy?

For someone with a life so complete.

They never have to worry about whether they’ll eat

Because it will always appear on the cover of Heat

That they ate too much and look overweight

But that is just the price they’ll pay

For having money and the world’s say

They don’t need privacy

When their friends are the paparazzi

Knocking on their door when days end

To see who is in their bed this time

Or to check if cocaine is their crime

They never have to worry that they will fade

Because their record company never made

Them what they are and have become

So they have no need to cry at night

To care about each first class flight

To tour the world alone

They don’t mind, they have their clones

People wearing their hairstyles and their names

All they ever wanted is fame

Why would you care that they never go home to families? Or sleep at night?

Why would you cry about their fall from height?

Because that’s just the price they’ll pay

To make the headlines of another day

It’s fun to watch a fellow person fall

From heights of Grammies, limousines - fame’s call

Taken by drugs or drink or worse

By vanity, their own stardom and thoughts perverse

But there will be another rising up

So why care about the one in the gutter?

Now all their albums become a silent mutter

But they’ll be a new and younger singer in the papers

Who will remember that rock star?

Who once slept with prostitutes,

In hotel suites with floor or bed to constitute

The animal they had inside

With adoring fans, fake but numerous

A life of riches and fame but humourless

No-one will notice that they are no longer there

On stage, because that was just the price they paid

The camera now no longer will flash

When they step outside,

Meaning they don’t have to hide

They’re not lost about what to do

After everything they’ve been put through

Rock stars don’t mean anything anymore

Why do you care if they hit the floor?

After all, their soul is just the price they’ll pay

To keep money and fame for another day.


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