Lumbering On

A man will strive to get what he desires,
he uses any tools and even tricks,
and, driven by the heat of inner fires
diplomacy must be his politics.

Yet time is such a fickle, flabby whore,
its aim to trap the sinners in its nets,
a thousand repetitions of encore,
he settles. And desires what he gets.

The colours we do recognise when young,
are black and by necessity plain white,
the song of each existence must be sung
as compromise, the grayness of the night.

Speak justice and integrity my lad!
Be fearless, slay the monsters of the day,
let others who may classify you mad
look sheepish while they turn their heads away.

The promise in your grasp as you were born,
fades slowly in the subtle winds of change,
it is as if the gods unleash their scorn
and send us to the Great Dividing Range.

So should we lend an ear to those who preach,
live life to the extreme and do not rest,
the smallest but most energetic leech
can sense it if the emperor is dressed.