A Red In The White

Hail to the mountains you said you moved,
Complain to the giant lumps of helplessness,
Proclaim those clandestine words you say to me,
Bane is not something I say I see.

Prudent and dainty, thou has called thyself;
Enlaced with the green fervent of corny nature,
Your smile emits not heaven, but hell.

Hold on to my infantile gestures;
Scold my eccentric ways, though they are unparalleled;
Gold is a heart which believes, milady;
Bold sentiments, alas, are all but a parody.

Strong and almighty, thou has called thyself;
A bewitched mirror calls out; an orderly exclaim,
The reflection poses a beauty, not brains.

Astound all the people who broke your barrier,
Found the future of false imputations, which you have;
Bound all the butterflies, deferentially, as well,
Mound my veraciousness; morals, along with, sell.

Unprecedented and disciplined, thou has called thyself;
With a tinkle of misty merriment, sometimes at most;
The truth of vice contains thee as a host.

Flame of ignition, a red in the white;
Same half hearted words, of blues;
Blame my flaw of mercenary, call out those ominous birds;
Frame my attire once again, for all I do is absurd.

Honest and liberal, thou has called thyself;
A finger at the queer, a thumb at the familiar;
The hand has been made to deny many things, should I say.

Deduce the pretence; now, today.
Educe my feelings, just this one time;
Excuse my nonchalance, for there is none;
Muse my character, let me try and be your sun.

Weak and futile, I have called myself;
Held together by rejection to perfection,
I bid thou to hear me, watch me, enjoy me;

For I am not one of them,
For I am not a lie,
For I am not heartless,
For I am not silly,
For none of those, and none of these, are me.
They are, and were, and always will be;
Words that define thee.