Wayward High...

self-explanatory..

The dark prince of wayward high,

Sinful silence tries to deny,

The world slips through his hand,

Reduced to sell in a newspaper stand,

 

As he tries to hold the world in his palms,

Knows its to be sold when the time comes,

Knows stories from these pages of time,

From here, sanity is a long climb,

 

The secrets of royalty,

Trade and taxes ... the swirls of frugality,

Enlightens and awakes the gentry from one-eyed rest,

But a fallen angel he can be called at best,

 

The ink inspires his dreams once a while,

In a torn and forlorn world, judgement is the thing to trial,

His lack not felt but his presence cant be undone,

Oh some live, some die all under the same Sun,

 

The knowledge transcends him to the next level,

But knowledge, like the rest, is a lawyer’s haggle,

And all this anguish portrayed through hilarity,

The headlines belong to things that are pretty,

 

We all know the rawness of life will soon indulge in a spree,

Races will still start at the count of three,

Black and white will get smudged and grey as they cry,

How much the world costs? ... Ask the dark prince of wayward high...

Reviews

[.]

. wow ... you said it ... and how ... absolutely spectacular writing ... brilliant title ... brilliantly justified ... that last stanza smashed all the glass in my building ... this is a song ... rock ... classic rock actually ... these existential battles that we fight relentlessly ... are a function of the baggage from people who didn't fight relentlessly ... and like you said ... in trade or taxes ... we pay a lot for what others before us have done ... or rather ... not done ...

[Tate Morgan]

The world is a cruel taskmaster

life's time waits on none of us
it masters fate with earnest callous
Caring for none in favored mercy
helping not whom it shows malice

[em]

- oh i agree with serah - this is spectacular - unique - brilliant - rock!!! - you're an exceptionally gifted poet!! -
- your vision in this piece - is incredibly profound - it's a ruthless world - that makes the sensitivity of a poet appear like a curse - it is a blessing - and you're blessed - blessed is your pen -