Poetry's My Armament And Muse

Poetry's my armament and muse; I wield her- both amusing and profuse. She keeps the bore many lengths away, As he's confused by her- too much to say. The ambitious too, have no use for her, And yes-men simply sit, and stroke her fur. As weapon, she is far beyond complaint; A catapult for fools, when they feel faint. A line frustrates the most obnoxious gossip, Who feels like something's fallen in her pocket; It's burning her with news she can't decode- She feels it slip away- and does that goad! My poetry unlocks me like a key, And keeps closer, the ones that those should be- It screens like Emily's poem, society- And shuts out undesired company.