I'm not the poet, I am a poem
Loan behold I'm bought and sold
It's old to me this poetry
Mystery hides what history abides
Rhymes I am read by who knows said
Threads in a riddle written for who
Clues to the truth to be used but when
Penned for news made plain to what end
Unmend my rhythm, woe begone tired
Woe betide we're begotten of lies
Lying amid my woe beset pain
Stained at the cost of my beloved's gain
Cover your ears and close your tongue
Songs are sung before lyrics are done
One is a judge without hearing or trial
Another smiles to open their file
Opaque is the pattern, the picture unseen
The scene is obscene, the plot is a pot
I'm not on this stage with a lot to hide
Chide in the cauldron, I got me fried
It's cryptic to tell the truth be true
Youth like a germ unfolds into proof
Sour the tooth, inexplicable arc
Stark the irony, the snake is a spark
The thing I criticized I have done
The thing I warned against I've become
