(^&^)

Pants, gasps more air to withstand?

Strands of stances, he intends to land,

Stands with a lance,

Strained in his hands,

They thought it was a dance,

And muttered, ‘no offence’

The sunlight shines,

The moonlight, kind,

Developing the mind,

A sign for mankind,

The man shines,

He fails to fathom the signs,

Then Indeed he is blind

Tired he pants,

A life span ends,

A lifetime spent,

He recounts all the times he vent,

Material world, deceiving all kind,

But they have not time,

They were busy chasing happiness in the shape of coins,

He stands with stains,

With regrets and no gain,

Society oh what a surprise, designed and stained

I keep repeating this, to what gain?

Well he is in shackles and chains,

He strains only to be consoled by the pain that stinks and leaves behind stains which strains and he fails to restrain he is deranged and he drains his thoughts in the drain when it rains.

My scalp always itches

I itch for stability and dishes

Often afraid of ending up in the ditches

The duchess they were caught in snickers

My fear needs stitches,

Why be afraid of glitches?

Who has his fate in his clutches?

It crashes and crushes?

Will we hide in the bushes?

True faith grants peace and all wishes,

For those who are blessed with an insight,

Which incites truth and admonishes the malicious.