The Sophist

2014-08-12 12:00 am

Bulwark for a king's depression,
Surely there is not.
Within the vast divine impressions,
Introspective thought.

A cirque carved in a sick obsession,
Leaves a body fraught.
Torn apart from mind's aggression
Coldness forced astop.

Gord

2014-08-12 12:00 am

In jealousy they salt the earth,
An appearance for my demise,
I die and no tear falls perched,
A fitting design for a tyrant.
In jealousy you all despise.

Hypocrites stall the trade of curd.
Poetically their dreams are poor,
No science behind an abstract score,
Chipping in a two cent piece,
When the wishing well is already full.