They say you shouldn't mix metaphors, or hobbies with profession,
It's a sorry day when you write to a prompt, rather than from a passion.
What can be fun, or a pent up release, is reduced to a ritualistic abuse,
You hone your craft, to be a pro, but the beginners innocence you lose.
They say to be hailed as a poet, you should be free of livelihood concerns,
The poet is defined by what he writes, not whether from his poem he earns.
To earn your bread as a poet, is a distant moonshot,
To sell your soul, for eyeballs, is on poetry's name a blot.
They say posterity is the best judge, your poems will outlive your other works,
While alive, the people may mock you, but after death they'll glorify your quirks.
Don't let go of your day job yet, you might not sell your masterpiece,
Only one of art or artist can live, the other has to rest in peace.
They say constraints help refine the art, I'm boxed, with heavy restraint,
As I can't be a Monet that flourishes in life, let me like Van Gogh paint.
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