Rise Of The Feeble Poem by Sherin Johnson

It’s eccentric to see,
Gloom turn into glee,
When time throws its dice,
And make the feeble rise.

Those who used to be against,
Suddenly become prodigy saint,
The realization on them only absorbs,
When own soul is pinned to sobs.

They never considered others’ requests,
But want to lead own soul to its quests,
They make dubious show of care,
They indoctrinate others into snare.

Then there are some hellion performers,
They revel in playing sympathizers,
It’s anserine on part of the feeble,
To believe in beguiling paroles.

They play to their heart’s content,
Knowing others’ emotional constraint,
And when their need is over,
Their attention starts to flicker.

It’s incredible how those pretenders think,
They would be believed without a blink,
But when time turns around,
Deceiving hearts break without sound.

The pain makes them realize,
The feeble heart was a prize,
They make efforts to win it back,
But the feeble is buried in a deep shack.

The buried feeble rises to power,
As a phoenix in high hover,
Cauterizing the bygones,
Scathing those paining hearts.

Now the feeble enjoys grandeur,
Time brought mean ones down under…