Clever

No child can articulate his fears
And few adults can use the language well.
I've always had an edge on trendy peers;
I can spin words into a spiel or spell,
Alliterate as easily as breathe
And call the common man illiterate,
But fear my honest self too much to sheathe
My cloying pen, or curb my precious wit.
With all my metaphors, internal rhymes,
My metered, mincing poems and pungent prose,
I drape and ornament the naked limbs
Of truth, and whisper to it how to pose
For pictures. Thus, those too verbose become
As handicapped, and thwarted as the dumb.