Looking
To understand,
Who will demand
Of a wrongful hand,
We have empowered
And thus so entrusted,
To buttress held best
Our collective interest,
As a protector elect,
Without he transgress
His mandated integrity,
For we, the people nation,
Of this, fictional free, land!
A near dead soul
Bled of iniquity,
Hobbles his way
Draped in defeat,
A façade now surly
Etched on his face,
Burdened with gait
That once held grace,
Who journeys in hell
From wrongful deeds
His mind can’t dispel,
Now sadly bears fate
That mirrors his hate!
ode to death of a friendship
Poetry on a canapé 