A paradox shall he be,
for be'st a facade,
Yet'st displeased at the word.
And too shall denials,
To speaks one and means another.
Shall the scripts note,
Phrase upon phrase,
A performer shall he be,
Yet at the time of speech shall none be mouthed,
For it is inevitable to see.
That to say and to do are but,
Two clashing thoughts,
Alike you and I.
For I am a walking paradox.
For he who fakes the greatsome walls before he,
Yet loves too swiftly,
For even a simple needle shall upon greatsome walls fall.
For he who holds such greatsome burdens,
Yet shall he hides them beneath his pillow.
For he who weeps of sorrow tears,
Shall upon the jolly mask he wear.
And too gently wears the face of man,
Yet acts with childish intent.
A falsely poet who writes of deathly heavens,
Yet believes not in He,
Though at times shall he indeed upon the heavens wish.
An orderly soul who goals ahead,
Yet a wandering mind who knows none,
A foolish romantic that knows not of the word.
A mediocrist that deems great himself.
A simple smiling face with layers of treacherous demons,
For which he feeds with delicious carrots,
For they are out to play,
To joyously dance amongst his fierce lingering heart.
For I am a walking paradox.
A poem on a walking paradox -- myself.