The photo album speaks a story,
A life full of esteem and glory.
Put in chronological order
Might have been a psychological disorder.
A frail pale body
You could picture it in your head.
Tall maybe his height
But his hands were red.
From being his parent’s imperfect boy
To being his class’s imperfect student,
Didn’t make much difference to him
Except for messing of the ingredient.
He adsorbed pride
But insecurity found vestibule.
From outside he was a tide
Within he was a dirty pool.
Succeeded in making followers,
Who praised and supported when he fell weak
Would pick on every other innocent
Had the idea that this would hide his streak.
Dying, crying, fighting and lying,
The tails tried their best to suffice
But when the reality dawned on the retinue
They had already stepped on the precipice!
Fell with their master and burst on the floor
Traits evaporated from within the core.
Followers produced devotion
Master was all about commotion.