At least Don Quixote had his windmills.
You mindlessly tilt at nothing.
Your words and actions don’t match up
And your pain and misery spreads like the plague.
Angrily shouting about Honour and Truth
Yet your Honour has gone
And your Truth has slipped you by.
Man of substance
Your portrayal is flawed.
The Black Imp of Deceit sits at your feet
A constant companion.
You don’t even notice him.
Your Gods are watching even if you don’t care.
They notice as you break your vows.
Payback is a Bitch.
SHE is merciless and unyielding.
SHE has no care for your feelings or motives,
SHE sees only cold naked fear and truth.
SHE will hold you up
Weigh your soul.
And find you lacking.
