Tilting at Windmills, Still

Credit: observationdeck.io9.com

A reluctant visit

An obligated progeny

You don’t want to know, he said

The shirt a dead give away

A tidbit told

More evidence of the continued decline and aberration of your soul

The story spins

History repeats

You cannot connect

Instead you show and tell

Gifts for yourself that accent your wealth

While your heirs labor six days

Scrimping and saving

They are neither envious nor angry

Merely filled with abject apathy

And a lack of respect born only

through the silence of their responses

Your brackish bravado

Your quixotic quest to fill the hole in your soul

An obvious attempt to hide from yourself

and the endless moral lapses that once cast a pall and plague

over any who dared to trust you

Void of remorse

Spinning a prevaricating tale

Unaware, Unrelenting

in your pallid pursuits

Practicing your art of deception

with the vapid Senorita at your side

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Tilting at Windmills, Still

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