Poetry2ponder's Blog

There is no more sincerity in today’s serendipity.
There is no more spontaneity on stage.

Severed, separated appendages
Dance for the dame.
On the other side of the flame
Silhouettes doing pirouettes.

Laughing at the jesters joking
With tongues they use for tripping
The fools whose folly festers
Feeding Frankensteins and Uncle Festers.

Dreading disappointing,
Devils disavowing,
Tragedies disallowing,
The creature creates a character.

Stepping over egg shells
Never moving himself
In the mind, there is a path
But in reality, there is no map.

So sullen Sonny sits
Quietly inquisitive
Never daring to declare
Looking away so he won’t care.

Filling the void is the victor villain
Vanquishing shattered shells
Moving to the beat of the bells
The victor villain fulfills himself.

Not concerned with cares inconsequential
His treatment is clearly preferential
And yet this is the liar, who sits beside the fire
Faking his affection frequently for his gain and his protection.
This is the victor villain vanquishing the creature cretin, collaborating with criminals, obscene and profane.
This is the victor villain who claims he has water in a drought, who claims there is refreshment soothing and he is the spout, who claims that there is buried treasure and he is the route.

The victor villain will professionally profess all the most sincere things in jest.
He will connive and convince, contort and distort, surely saying sweet somethings

But this is the lie and the fraud, the prick pretending to be pious, the lover who loves another.

So this is what I mean when I state in my hurried, hateful, hoarse, heckling rant
That sincerity has been stolen from serendipity surreptitiously and as a substitution stands “sincere” one night stands.