I seem to have misplaced
My cheerful disposition.
It's flown right off my face.
The angry world will opposition
Those who won't pretend.
Can't be bothered to amend,
I intend to make a difference-
Be that bright lit star.
But the great wide space
That stands between
Is oozing abuse,
Sorrowful pus.
Falling down,
For far too long.
My knees have grown so weak.
They won't support
The heavy mind
That leads those long lost sheep.