An Exercise In Futility Poem by John Sensele

A howler when I purse my lips
Cutting off my nose to spite my face
When on purpose I beat my chest in cribs
Where restraint, respect and reflection erase the trace and brace

Immersed in consistency, competency and congruency
Within realms usually teeming with compromise
For the sake of efficacy
Riding on the back of surprise at sunrise

In a panorama that suggests ability
To consider in depth views of interlocutors
Unless fragility and futility
Boosted by persecutors and prosecutors

Whose short-sightedness comes to the fore
Upon close scrutiny
Of the core
That accelerated the mutiny

In which self-harm metamorphosed into an illusion
Pushed to the limit and beyond conjecture value
Raising the profile in the full glare of the delusion
Whose true blue glue without a clue

Led me to assert the naïve notion
That a wrong could engender a right
By virtue of mere assertion
In benighted circumstances whose blight

Came undone
When far from earning me fame
Succeeded in repelling prospects of the pardon
For which I long as to my name I attached a plethora of blighted blame.