Lord of Misrule

The time of misrule is at hand, but mankind cannot bear too much freedom, so what next? All will be revealed in this poem.

 

I:

The Lord of Misrule’s hour hath come

He maketh joy for everyone

So sing his song and beat his drum

And do not seek the morrow.

 

The Lord attired in gaudy dress

With cap and bells, and full of jest

And when he laughs you may forget

Our portion that is sorrow

 

But yet his face is always hid;

A riddle, even when amid

The crowd that do whate’er he bids

Enthralled to thoughtless mirth.

 

 

II:

The Lord of Misrule, he hath gone

And we, bewildered, carry on

We cannot say quite what is wrong

But yet we feel a dearth.

 

Mankind with lonesome eyes regards

The sky above, the glist’ning stars

And all the wondrous things that are

And sees a maker’s hand.

 

He sees a maker’s hand, or feigns;

Now man is as though loosed from chains

Of loneliness, and joy that pains,

And he claims to understand.

Reviews

[Tony]

I would like only to say that someone intellectual enough to understand this will still underestimate the message, being lost in mindless mirth, as it were.
Which leads us full circle to the Lord of Misrule, and to his demise!
Soon the Turds will scamper about in a different paradigm they created so as to punish themselves for their lust and sloth!
This was fun even for a nut like me!

[Tony]

This is the best Sunday morning sermon ever!