In lines, in verses
They curse his name;
In poetry lies his
Famous distain.
He bled his words
As they cut his wrists
With society’s
Ideals of what fit.

People, places, the mind’s
Many faces—his mind’s
True face, his lives,
His crimes, his many,
Many times when he
Forgot to let it go.

Well, the green stays
Green (deceivingly) on both
Sides in this pleasant
Pasture of life.
Never greener, (never
Meaner) is the truth.

So puppet of man’s
Creation—blessed
Deviation from the
Sentiment—are
You fit to rule?
Are you fit to care
—or not to care?

Puppets; just wooden,
Their bodies burn and with
Too much passion they
Will learn.
And learn they will
Of the strings that
Keep their desires
Still. Falsely content
Those smiling fools…

—and yet he cut his
strings
—let fly his figurative wings.
But the price to pay, the
Alienation, was it worth
The discrimination?—the
Looks, the lies those wooden
Mouths talk.
—(no one should exceed to the top.)

For everything he was nothing
And in nothing he was something.
Something that changed, grew
A face, became something more
Mortal.
The conscience came, a beautiful
Purpose.

The blood, the organs, the
Breakable teeth, the stench
Of death
—oh how it wreathed him in
glory, basked him in shame,
oh how they never spoke his
name.
Ruin his fortunes, break his
Will—conquer him yet,
Conquer him still.

Yet, wooden knows the
Easy conformity while
Flesh and blood battles
Daily this passion, this
Pride—the divine reason
To live life unique
And alone,
While the clannish mind
Thumbs content with the
Silken gloves of
Regret.

In purpose he found,
In solitude he grew,
In pain he knew that
Feeling is better than
The numbness of a dumb
System of fools—their
Fear to break unspoken
Rules.

But in unity there did
Lie something he cast
An envious eye.
In unity there lay
Soft smiles, the touching
Warmth, people—
People and their support.

Torn in two, both sides
Jagged (sharp, unforgiving)
—how would you have it?