THE HOLLOW BOULDER
More than some conceit drapes itself on him,
Who's focus is predominantly on himself,
Casting his own brief shadow deep within,
For in his own manufacture lies his wealth.
His moments held in beauty's powerful lens
Are bursting bubbles that are briefly free,
On which bold effort significantly depends
Lest what he knows is counterfeit, doth flee.
Yet while the inner parts of his cranium swell,
The awareness of the falsity of their praise
Dismantles his security that a hidden hell,
Reeks silent havoc that is absent from his gaze.
Yet numbness is profound where hurt is worst,
That each bubble is renewed as it doth burst.
You will not long be what you are my friend,
Though what you are you have already been,
Tis but a moment that you comprehend,
For what you see you have already seen.
Life is so brief; we know it when we die,
When our span of time dissolves and disappears,
That we have lived none can in fact deny,
But in a flash gone are all those years.
Tis a commodious vessel of anxiety and pain,
With a crew of demons and one at its helm,
That sails through the mind without shame,
With a deportment designed to completely overwhelm .
Yet while he praises most his own done deeds,
Within his inner circle the ring worm feeds.