The Seven Rages Of Man

Written by: denis bruce

Trailing clouds of glory do we come
When first our cradles do us home.
Smiles beam down like gentle rays of sun
As our parents on us do fawn.
Their hopes are great,through love refracted
But Fortune their hopes has oft redacted.

Creeping to school like a lowly snail
The bard has told the schoolboy's tale.
But palaces of pleasure are now our schools
Where mischief reigns and ignorance rules.

April is still the cruellest month
Where a teenager in confusion runneth
Not sure of who he is or what to do
And sees his life drift far askew.

But once released into his brave new world
To more temptation is his soul unfurled,
Leaving him adrift in a bewildered state
To take drink,do drugs and fornicate.

Yestreen it was better to marry than burn in Hell
Today no such union on him doth rest well
And so his rod on different rivers he will ply
In vain his spirit to satisfy.

Time,the subtle thief of youth,does parade
The body's restlessness to shrivel and fade
And so of  potions and pills he does partake
To revivify his lusts the more to slake.

In the foul rag and bone shop that is the heart
His end is so different from its start.
An aged man is but a paltry thing
With his strength gone he cannot sing.
Morphine denies his raging against the dying of the light
And so at last  he sinks into eternal night.