a broken shard of charcoal
will it prove enough to make a man?
when you fold into submission
sighting inference of slight
exacting of your ego’s wrath
upon those thought to interfere
we are all born hypocrites
and so it is that we shall perish
rue the day this truth desists
and pride usurps devised discretion
trumpeter of shadowed triumph
sowing seeds of condemnation
woven with such ornate bombast
propped up by a hollow victim
ever to avail their own
bleeding hearts
are blind with succor
leaving truth to fates unknown
tragedies will find appointment
at the behest most emphatic
negligently inundating
standers-by with self-accord
unafforded
sordid with a dubious deliberation
sortie of self-indulgence
nevermind the sadist fallout
calling out in silent woes
left behind to mind the mayhem
bearing eyes of the observer
patient, with a prudent penchant
knowing time
reveals all
[image credit: Anna and Elena Balbusso]
Max, or Not 