This poem is one that I wrote a few years back while thinking with the mind of a character from one of my manuscripts. Beneath the poem I have kept his name as if he indeed has written it. The reason I am sharing this old piece today is because I was kind of feeling like this today. I hope you enjoy it.
Why do you frown, oh brave fellow?
Has not the dawn of your new day come?
The twisted winds of your tedious windings
And precious gifts of your plans to be sung.
Why hang your head so low, dear fellow?
Have not your hands your bed thus made?
The wistful thoughts of your hopeful bindings
Avarice eyes that flirt with the grave.
Why do you box the wind, strange fellow?
Have you not learned disaster’s ploy?
To tease you with what your heart longs after
Taunt you with gifts that you’re meant to enjoy
You cannot win this war, stubborn fellow
If with these tools you play fates game
Your heart is hardened and your head will follow
And thus your end will be the same.
But past masked skin your face doth smile
Screaming ‘triumph is mine the victory I’ve won!’
Your breast exposed in haughty laughter
Your soul is tethered and yet…undone.