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The Jest
Have you heard the latest joke around the parts?
A trend that goes around and is the most common thing about
How they will tell you that its unique or special
It's just the way that it tries to be, a repackaged dull thing
Puny, empty, lacking, and miserable in existence
Shall it never find another thing, it won't go out of style
There are simply too many to bring it about
With grit that is ignored, the roaming centerpiece remains
The smug shall linger in there with false humility
How acrid a scent around a foul, empty shell
Pretending to be something that it is not
Disgusting disguises and false house erected in its place
There worship shall stand of the lackluster within
Being bold is only so afforded in small doses and shall never prove much
All to be a single house and must stay within it
Bringing only the empty praise, and the mindless to church
In that it is like a single and empty pity that will find no edge
There is nothing to be seen, but the hearts that shall find lost hope
So pitiful
Very sad
Presumptively worthless
Yet so very cold under prism's light
The Jest, it surely is.
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The Jest
Have you heard the latest joke around the parts?
A trend that goes around and is the most common thing about
How they will tell you that its unique or special
It's just the way that it tries to be, a repackaged dull thing
Puny, empty, lacking, and miserable in existence
Shall it never find another thing, it won't go out of style
There are simply too many to bring it about
With grit that is ignored, the roaming centerpiece remains
The smug shall linger in there with false humility
How acrid a scent around a foul, empty shell
Pretending to be something that it is not
Disgusting disguises and false house erected in its place
There worship shall stand of the lackluster within
Being bold is only so afforded in small doses and shall never prove much
All to be a single house and must stay within it
Bringing only the empty praise, and the mindless to church
In that it is like a single and empty pity that will find no edge
There is nothing to be seen, but the hearts that shall find lost hope
So pitiful
Very sad
Presumptively worthless
Yet so very cold under prism's light
The Jest, it surely is.
Poetry is its own form of magic, and when in need of a way of venting. The transmogrifying of words into something usable, yet seamlessly a hidden source that only its writer shall ever know. Isn't it mystifying in that quality to know that some poetry has come from some place, but one writer allows the words to come to craft, instead of just saying its 'A' or 'B'.
I find this far more gratifying, and I am satisfied with today's poem due to it. Please R&R!
I find this far more gratifying, and I am satisfied with today's poem due to it. Please R&R!
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
Comments