Must You Bare Us Ill
The blossoms in a meadow; being chocked out by the weeds;
Reflect the concepts of society; that do tangle and deceive.
In a conquest for dominion; they can not stand alone;
And the beauty of the flowers; are seldom fully grown.
The mirror casts reflections; on a rosewood vanity;
And the drawers are filled with prizes; that adorns the sight they see.
Those oratory speeches; that they rehearse into the glass;
Are deceptions to a personal gain; and their smiles are but a mask.
When asked to quench his thirst; the woman said like hell;
You shouldn’t even be here; and this is not your well.
It’s very old and common; but bares so many names;
That man must battle other men; is a humanistic shame.
Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2009
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