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Poem

I'm jabbed at my side with plummet and jab, and yet I must grin and bear it,
I'm abhorrent with scorn for those who must mourn, but then I indifferently swear 
it.
Pathos and play this is the new way to read past a cover,
But to sured dismay this supposed display is nothing but a buffer.
Acceptance in many, a noble pursuit but is it worh scrupulous losses,
For every companion is lost in a canyon of lacerated crosses,
For sin and lamehnt are the only avail when deceit is a popular practice,
Honor and grace can prove ugly in taste for those who apparently lack this,
Jest in the cruel and pain in the righteous seem to be the new standard,
So why not be masses with sections and classes and measures of Lucre as 
spirit,
The reason is subtle it's muffled in evil, but one can still hear it beating,
Through hunger and death, bloodshed and stress that seems to incumbent the 
streets,
The beat of one's own heart, it has all the answers to questions regarding the 
spirit,
It's written in code for angels and God so only who listen will hear it,
To the sainted listerners, it's an astute obligation, to grin and bear the malice tht 
the deaf hearts do commit,
For at one time or another, we have done unto our brother in a contradictory 
fashion that what he would have us do,
So we have to keep on sinning and never cease our grinning, when we really 
want to burst into a burning flame of hate,
For others haven't heard the news, that not to be true to yourself is to lose, 
So priviledged few, that have a clue, will simply have to wait.

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