Your sense of self worth
is at the birth
of your new consciousness.
Nonetheless, the best dressed
Still look ugly
When they are a mess;
And the messiest of the bunch
Can still clean up
When taken out to lunch.
Don’t go to church.
Never besmirch.
Label a king as a king
And a peasant
As a man who has no plan.
Ruling over all,
The king builds his own mountain
Down which to fall.
What goes up
Must be in the eye of the sky.
The moonlit days
Under the sun’s complicit rays
Leave no mainstay.
Soon, darkness is but a shade of grey.
The simplest of men
Are caught in the playpen
of following the crowd,
Playing the already written chorus,
Silently allowing mediocrity to bore us,
out loud!
