Hard to see, Harder to believe

The broken parts, add beauty.

Hard to see, harder to believe,

That bards have tried,

And will keep on trying.

To not succumb to their wounds,

To last out through pretty lines.

But they don’t always have to be pretty,

Or do they?

To bestow into the fugitive mind,

The concept of depth in ‘em.

They hold at hand,

Empty plates faulting,

But their knack to pretend,

Creates phony grandeur.

Into which trapped will be those,

Who have never known this before.

Because one look at it,

And you smell desperation.

The kind to be accepted and embraced,

Sometimes expect admiration.

Probably the prejudice is,

That the acceptance should begin with self.

If they look around,

To see the cracks on their plates,

And if they believe in the grandeur,

They want everyone else to be convinced of,

The chauffeur will charge less.

It is hard to see,

How we’re somehow like all the bards,

And it is harder to believe,

Because apparently the confusion,

Is perpetuated by inadvertence.

/