Oh, what tangled web we weave
when first we practise to deceive...
Though repetition is the mother
of studies, knowledge and no other
great skills are needed to succeed.
Deception works. It works, indeed.
It is a rare exotic bird
who'd always keep his given word,
he owns a rather modest nest,
a loving heart beats in his chest.
The weavers often ridicule
this honest soul, call him a fool.
Afraid of orderly debate,
they cheat while they pontificate.
The web they weave while still alive
will cling to them when they arrive
at checkpoint Heaven, Judgment Day,
where God shall have the final say.
But even then, don't hold your breath
they will attempt to make their death
into a rousing celebration,
where no one fears obliteration.
Though, let me ask you, in conclusion
is goodness then just an illusion?
And, why on earth would our God
give to the evil folks the nod?
One day He talked to me in thunder,
bravely I asked about this blunder.
He said 'As night cannot be day,
all sinners are allowed to pray.'
Mindblowing because I was thinking of those mindblowing mammaries. And thank you both, how did I ever get along on this site without you? H
This is a mindblowing poem, Herbert. Oomph! And in rhyme!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is very thought provoking Herbert. I really enjoyed this one. Sincerely, Mary