Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Bad Poetry - Dec 16

Tis never I but always circumstance

A jealous other’s unfriendly face

A person’s lack of constance

Questions and ideas to which I pace

Never has one come to accept

Offers of porcelaine’s care

Maybe I haven’t grasped the concept

Maybe it’s in my love for hair

The first I believed rather naivily

The second awoke something in me

From their it’s been but stare and despair

Even one true proved less than fair

To what avail should I these failures

Attribute be it to

Are my imaginings farther scriptures

People frightened by how high I flew

Or maybe underneath it all

Superficiality is the master of things

Goliath’s stature I can not call

To be of my natal stings

Whatever it is, it be no coincidence

When so many agree at once

Then it can be but the dunce

Who makes them run in constance


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