An old cynical overbearing man,
Unkempt beard, messy hair,
Sat quietly, watching children ran,
Grunting, scornful at youthful lair.
A stern frown reined his wrinkle forehead,
Remembering his own youthful foolishness,
He could never be made to forget,
How he became a cynic full with bitterness.
He had come to realize the deceit,
Of a skilful and crafty beckoning woman
He had experienced the utter heat,
The torture, all that wanton love meant,
He admit, he concede, he was stupid,
To let his imagination wildly ran,
On and on, he did nothing but sit,
Entangled in the web delicately spun,
By a conniving, lying, multi-faceted bitch,
Who taught him the meaning of ‘woman’.
So don’t ask him, why, my good man, why,
Why he is now o’ so cynical,
Streaming regret of unshed tears went by,
A hollow scream that the toes curl.
Love is said universal,
It soothes, it gives inspiration,
But when a man has become cynical,
Can’t blame if he sat alone, abandoned,
The same love he once believed magical,
Has deserted him to complete destruction.
His youthful naivety ensured his failure can’t be bailed,
His wiser old age guarantees him to always be cynical.