"we were brave,

                        for all the wrong reasons"

The emergence of a new born is announced by her cries in the cold
That very moment she leaves the warmth in which she was mould
But in reassuring arms,
She is comforted and grows calm.
Soon she realises there's more to life than candy and sweets,
And someday she would have to stand alone on her feet.
Was she prepared to face the world?
No, there were countless times she ran back in, and cried out to her Lord!
Her innocence and optimism
Is challenged by the world's depravity and pessimism
Every now and then, she's under pressure
To disregard virtues she's always treasured.
She knows she ought to be patient and ought not to worry
But that's really difficult in a world where everyone is in a hurry.
Eventually, she loses her peace
For the things her eyes sees.
Fearing she may be lagging behind
She adopts schemes that are truly not refined
Sadly, the more she craves and acquires
The more the vacuum in her heart requires
Her emptiness reveals her deeper need for something more than things
Regrettably, her lust has made her lose her love and regard for beings.
Oh No! this is not the sweet girl has parents had raised,
And the streets in which she grew praised.

.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                                    
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'

He drapes an arm around anyone's shoulder
In every shot I've seen;
It leads your eyes along his arm
To his eyes, a vanity trick,
Like a narcis-stick.

He often grows some ****** hair,
And wears a logo shirt,
Every thought is well-planned out,
To push his latest scheme.

I attended his wedding,
The first I've ever seen,
Where the groom draws more attention,
Than any bride could dream.

She wore an oyster-colored dress,
With a train six feet long;
While she was walking up the aisle,
The groom broke into song.

Then they had a child,
A boy, now thirteen,
He throws his arm around his dad
To be the centre of the scene.

I'm wondering
What went wrong;
HP's becoming
An animal farm.

I must hurry to the meeting
In the committee room,
We'll vote on closure
Of the heart,
Get back to work by noon.
All the players are present,
We're sitting side-by-side,
I'm next to an idiot,
Beside myself
With opinions that collide
Within myself,
About myself,
Infused with self,
I'm the chair of the meeting,
The only one in the room.
My many colored selfish life
Has left my heart forlorn.
We take a vote
To remove the chair,
His outlook
Is too biased;
He had a heart per diem,
Mismanaged in a poem.