Man

This man, right here, is an exception,
Possessing virtue, but no vice.
He should be, in an art collection,
Marked: "Not for sale- has no price."

Facade

Does shallow rhyme amuse you so,
That you decline to let me go?
Rhymes about a hundred roses,
Rhymes about how cute your nose is.

Can you not notice my disguise,
That I fashion from these lies?
That have no substance and no meaning,
But which you seem to find appealing.

I'll tell you now, I think that you,
Deserve far better than a few,
Love poems written by a man,
Who hides behind a crafty pen.

Please do not take this the wrong way,
And think that what I'm trying to say,
Is that there is a man of worth,
Who hides behind this awkward verse.

Because there is no such man here,
No wise man, oracle, or seer.
A poet made of flesh and blood,
Is all that's under this facade.

Bargain

Take me to the man who teaches,
How to sell one's misery.
What foul lie is it he preaches,
That promises, to set me free?

For if I could sell depression,
Mania, sleeplessness, and vice.
He can have all my possessions,
I won't haggle over price.

Tree

A lonely tree springs from a seed,
Blown from afar by cruel winds,
It has no shelter from the storm,
No forest, family, or home,
Although it has no single thing,
It is a happy tree indeed.

For when its fruit has blossomed forth,
And branches strain beneath the weight,
The birds shall not resist the lure,
The tree of loneliness they'll cure,
For with their help it will create,
A forest from the fertile earth,
To keep it company forever.

Deserving

So many times I've been oppressed,
By gossip, lust, and poor advice,
That I've been chronically depressed,
Lamenting this- my lot in life.

The children's laughter does not reach,
My ears, which have been so abused.
With hate, and spite, by vulgar speech,
Of every crime I've been accused.

The chains that bind me have no name,
My jailors have no mortal form.
I have only myself to blame,
I am deserving of their scorn.