your priggish mien is too obscene
your loftiness bought with a spoon
you believe you're great
but really your fate
will be to slink back inside your filigreed rooms
your palace won't talk or balk at your  whims
shelter from the minions  to be appeased therein
you'll be safely ensconced on your imaginary throne
though the "stupid" servants must remain
they'll cater to your delusions so puffed up and vain
sycophants, ****-ups, yes-men  you require
ring-kissing genuflecting servitude for the sire
still your convoluted mind is so much muck and mire
owning a computer shan't make you a writer
possessing a library won't make you brighter
having a calculator doth not make a mathematician
dearth of dialectics and paucity of vocabulary
nary ever an orator  or articulate politician
get back in your place witless purveyor of haste
your knee-**** hackneyed spiel lacks fervor and taste
those that admire you are fools for the taking
as contrived and duplicitous  as your majesty of faking

posturing plentitude of platitudinous petulance
the sulking face of the pride of disgrace
pretentiousness replete, retorts repeated
a compensatory litany of honesty forlorn
what is your objective, your ultimate intent to be
a divisive monster of truthfulness, to be some sight to see
with all your money and ill gotten gain
you can not  buy love, you can only by fame

The louche magniloquent maladroit  malaise of the dense mayonnaise mouth of  political palaver and longueur left me with that sad sinking feeling of believing there is nothing left to live for.

Lugubriousness aside, I was nevertheless momentarily nonplussed until I recalled that a bona fide thespian was once president. And to my dismay I remembered to say: nothing in the world can bother you as much as your own mind.

Does he  see that he is friend and that he is foe
The internal war of dichromatic dueling to be shown
Does he see the lioness nary weeps as she stalks the gazelle to be torn
The lioness whom by nature must  prey and whose life shall also be shorn  
We are two-legged animals with  sentience to marvel and torment
Alas we see  blood-thirsty instinct is civilization’s lament
For try as you may, regardless the prim and the proper
You’re no less a savage  as piteous as a pauper

Cosmic consciousness can consequently convey cataleptic conditions...
captured calamities constantly cascading, careening, colliding continuously...
continuity, congruity, catalysts construing clarity,  confining confusions...
concluding;  causality creatively conducts constructed concretized    concordance.

Lonely can be the plight of the English major
languishing in a lexicon of terms and forms
dreams and schemes
witticisms and imaginings
with that lushness of loquacity
whereby  sonnets and rhymes are adorned
symbols and signs are reformed
where mellifluous speech is ascribed an eloquence
transcribed and renewed
and the heralding voices of angels appear
preceded by an  aperture of magnificent hues

*I will always be in love with you
our lives are not our own
from womb to tomb
we are bound to others
past and present
and by each crime
and by every kindness
we birth our future

In the quest for the best
I was put to the test
for the weary no rest
It was just like I guessed

they said I was unlikely
to amount to anything slightly
resembling something brightly
luminescent in the light

still I tried
and sometimes I lied
upon the veils I pried
apart the many vying
tiers of tired labors trying

but on the quest one must remain
in  the ongoing course to be sane
try again tomorrow, never too late
the quest for the best
the venture  not in vain