When red-ribboned wrapping’s torn
from faded fabric of jaded life we live,
society’s conventions shorn,
hallucinogen highs earn disrepute, urned scorn.
Few steadfast, fair reflection give.
'Unto thyself be true! ' boon sworn,
soon perjured. Fear, Fate, Fame feed opiate additive,
poppy field forgetfulness foresworn,
spring puppet frame string fancies few forgive,
when scrutiny tests unrest's groove forlorn
trail railwayed, second thoughts stillborn.
Fortunate had most failed to form,
ghost feelings, feeble boast, toast featureless, host soul sieve.
Jonathan ROBIN
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/superficiality-2/
