Monorhyme Of A Monotone

Life has grown monotone

Stuck amidst he, at times, moan

It is just for a few hours, we miss his baritone

Stoic for days with his heart's pulp bulking out placed beneath a stone

For the dilemma be not just his alone

The levels, he believes to up, leave him indebted under some loan

Recurring visit, without a notification or any call over the phone

Depressed he is or is he pedantic or prone?

For every pain seems to him of the former's clone

Blood and bone be his own

Yet relentless courage he has long ago agone

His delight been dethrone

Sits there the bedlam's king, a crux, from the Valley of Silicon

Swear, it has also diluted his hormones

Look at his bent backbone

As if beneath his clothes he's been deep sown

Who shall be responsible and atone?