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.

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.