Excess Poem by Craig Turner

His integrity he plunders,
Without grace,
Hitting the floor in fields of thunder,
Glimpse his disgrace,
Looking down your nose,
Doesn't suit your face.

Shake your finger,
At the indulgence,
Its no distress,
From here looking up,
In no state to impress,
The literal face of excess.

More self righteous an entity he had never known,
On his route to the palace of wisdom,
So cast the first stone,
But you'll probably miss,
No eyes will wince,
From the face of excess.