The Disquiet Of Man
The Disquiet Of Man


Life is such an adventure
For a man in his prime.
For there are many exploits
Due, before the end of time.
First, he greets his new wings
Frowning at tactful youth
And establishes links severed
To bolster each brawling dispute.
Then he prances excitedly
Like the limpid stride
Of a warm stallion
With freshly garnered pride.
Soon enough, he discards
All his well-won vain.
Even the struggles of his glory.
He quickly learns to disdain.
First, he unleashes fire
And grins at his beating heart,
Looking himself in the dark mirror
He beckons his distemper to start.
e="color: rgb(16, 19, 23);">Then he mocks his own life,
Stranding himself in his form
To ash is burnt the previous day
And lo! His passion returns by dawn.
Such is the plight of man
That overrode his sinews,
His basal bellicose veins too
Were shaken by what it brews.
It's too irritable by sullen afternoon
That chants the old groans,
And lessening exuberance
Deems useless the very bones.
Most myriad by night,
When the disenchanted man dives,
Sinking in pensive despair
And poignancy comes alive.
Such is the disquiet of man,
Mysterious like where it's from,
Spawn of darkness and marquis of spleen,
It accouters itself at dawn.