Holding jaw high, proud
As animated, raw crowd
Awards unmerited noises loud.
Seen as 'miracle worker'
Yet, if truly knowing self
Would elate at being despised...
Grasping that his faith
Shamelessly he compromised
Walking in unfitting shoes,
Formidably disguised.
Raising face high, proud
As enthusiastic, thick crowd
Rewards with unearned sounds loud.
Looked upon as 'miracle worker'
Still, if truly knowing self
Would grieve facing undue praise
Grasping that he failed to show a face
Conceding faith in multiform ways
Striding in garment disguised
Subteen... sterile... sterilized...
Choices beefed up with satanic ties
If knowing self
Would exult at being despised
Inflated buffoon with caustic lies
Set down as 'miracle worker'
Instead as a lost fellow
Needing heart rich and mellow
Dressing in suit on credit
With no liable human merit...
Just a broken violin bow...
In the Hand of Divine Artist...
Is he eager to conform?
Willing to sow... to grow?
Battle ever persistent foe?
Seek for true cause to glow?
Executive mansion
Puppet master
Hubristic, horripilant
Cunning noggin
Leader of disaster!
.....................................................................................
All of us - just unfit instruments
In the Divine Artist's Hands...
Dorothy Kardas, Psy.D. Th.D.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/broken-bow/
