We gather round like children,
Silly minds are smitten,
As stories begin to flow,
The jokes with spite are told,
Giggling sounds of laughter,
Come shortly thereafter,
But then one stands among us,
And every word is rhymed,
The meter and cadenced timed,
Just so and like this,
Like ignorance is bliss,
The world is swirling round,
A deep dark madness found,
Pulling tears from our faces,
Like rain after drought replaces,
Like knowing after doubt disgraces.
A madness deep and dark,
Apparent from the start,
There is no laughter there,
Only the lonely despair,
Joy long gone and forgotten,
And all the songs are rotten,
Sorrow a close held friend,
Ungrateful heart won’t mend,
Nothing can console this,
This dreadful, damnable soulless,
This darkling seems complete,
This damned and damning beat,
The drummer’s wild retreat,
And the Bugler’s silvery sweet,
Sounding sound of defeat.
But even a bad poet,
Is still a poet.
Jim Hime ©2011
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