Up A Huge Hill Backwards Poem by DM W

O those who wish to compose poetry
Are constantly up against it; it seems.
Whether it's being labelled as lazy,
Or idealistic, drug fuelled and hazy.
Whether it's being misunderstood by
The masses or patronised by modern elites,
Who are brainwashed by capitalist lies.
They regard it as essentially a futile
Endeavour. There are so many nay sayers.
There are multitudes of philistines. There are
Those who appear, to dread the spread, of a smidgeon
Of beauty into our crude world. They fear visions
And dreams that point out its inadequacies.
But mostly, they fear, their inner selves I feel.