Imitative Boast
False impressions are never ever lasting/
Like a marooned mariner, grasping the mirage of a open mast/
To blink twice, just to witness the bark depart on clearer sight/
Chameleon miscreants pass off dubious mirror images fatally flawed by ludicrous imitative shenanigans/
Its damaging short-comings like short-sighted iris’s navigating fore-sights picturesque point of panorama/
A spotlight hoax attempting to coast through as a divine attention grabber/
Cinderella’s pumpkin chariot without the fairy godmother to cast her magical enchantment extravaganza/
Standard parrot grammar lies stagnant damaged with a broken swagger/
The reckoning without a host, betray is but been lead astray by the limelight ghost/
Yapping boastful anecdotes; invoking axiom status quo’s /
Cast a merry vote when the mystical shroud is elected for disingenuous hope/
Standing on thinning superficial ropes whilst juggling all the stage play masks of a vagabond exterior soul /
Till the first breathe/
Till the last roll of the dice is spent/
Mirror, mirror on the wall do tell them they aren’t the fairest of them all/
And watch them fall as their pivotal glowing countenance falters to grand stall/
To be adored is the sweet nectar that embellishes their downfall/
The rose withers away to blighted corrosion wishing to bloom for ever more/
The spring tide of endless youth is but a Halloween world that haunts the wrinkled terrestrial contours/
The nostalgia of a sparkling adorn will only be but the fantasy of what is forgone/
Grandfather clock is the leash that bids times flow to a measured stroke/
He lives within the confides of the pending storm dictating the final croak /
Holding a abacus counting down your score/
Cheating death is but being oblivious to the grim reapers blissful scorn/
To live forever more, is a fairytale cryogenically frozen waiting to be reborn/
Till its merry ending unfolds to be yet again foretold/
The merry go round thrill of growth to eerie epilogue with a silhouette rest bed/
Keeps knocking at my homestead/
Knock, knock; will you open the door welcoming in the penultimate guest? /
Or bolt shut the door with a frigid latch key may-hap/
Either way the ossuary of final placement will happen/
Waffling could be an opposition, although ultimately the full-stop puts it to an end with concise temperance of zest/
I’ll put my known best bottom ends forward
Lying well below par with wild sharpened spurs of burgundy
I’m blood orchid blooming quite oar- quidly
Observing you ghost step on wounds like, a pristine young ling testing its strutting stilts that warble along by acute degrees/
How well, and dreadfully fortunate/
Amen to blessed norms on slanted weighing beams/
Life’s a big boot of cahoots /
Strive to be the peasant that learns from the shoemaker’s whole proof/
To plot prosperous pots of your own to earn a size-able appraisal loot/
Righty yo, Stamp it as a pledge and bit it sweet, sweet shwarker/
Monotonous dreary droids overhead circuit breakers, hacking source codes to debug daily loops riddled with impetuously sponsored disasters/
There’s no sniffing of cupid’s beloved flowers, just the heaven-sent odours of blighted high-handed facades of skully vapour in the atmosphere/
Demise is always near so live like a dragon heart and show no fear/
Eternal rest is where the conundrum bears a hardy parathion shaft spearheading all with a solemn tear/
To the final awaiting frontier/
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