Microcosms Of Existence Poem by Mark Heathcote

A child is born
And taught in ways to think
But what child born,
Hasn't character
Of his/her own to drink.

Is it any wonder?
Each caption soul of thunder
Becomes the same as any other
Victual night of passions plunder.

Love is not advanced
By the sphere of a lance
Love is not imbued
With lusts bastard brood
Any more than love
Love can be only one Gods subterfuge.

First written 25/03/2001 edited 27/01/2016