Vain Labor
Max would in all things take special care,
Still he fell into the cheapest snare;
With blistered feet racing like mad hare
But bouncing bank with badly burnt hair!
Cases of cheery news often rare,
He’s beginning to think” it’s not fair!
Claims of “I’ve been doing what is right,
Yet it’s Not by Power or By Might;
Max’s job to detect where he does lag,
His guiltless feeling “Real Filthy Rag…”
Max has to doors ease open to light,
The one shining in him dimly bright
Or it is he against Vain Labor,
In the end to not a thing savor…
He may his Max Name change to favor,
To stop impressing A Lost Favor.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
