The Cream

The cream does not always rise,

It sinks and swims and struggles,

Gurgling and gulping its juices,

Straining to breathe and bathe,

In the fresh air and light,

But it will spoil still,

In the stern staring judgement,

A bumpy billowing feast,

For slobbering flies to spit upon.

The rejection arrives,

With no words but only scorn,

Passing silent without any praise,

But mountains for those opposite,

On the wall on the other side,

Full of themselves and others,

Preferring to adhere and promote,

The established and accepted,

At the cost of the world;

The cream does not always rise.