The Song Remained The Same

One eventide my wishers ran to me to comprise an ode,

I said mate, going into lines ain't ever that elementary.

But we wish one for the rag, one for the broadside;

I gave them absolution without being assured of any copy.

A rhythmical expressive literary piece, epic surely;

The reciter will leer for rhymes, or no poesy certainly.

Yeah, since cradle, did write verses of sundry sense,

Though brought forth few years back of embodied veins.

And now, I can't harmonize anything of variant sort,

For every tune would strike the very same old chord.

The motif may change its pitch but song remains the same,

Every song would sound the very half daffy and half sane.

It craves for adroitness to coin songs with colored senses,

as is needed skill and practice to live life sans contriteness.

Some regrets are also sweet, eventhough all got withered,

A man knows part life breathed and part smiles feathered.

Ain't no Avon bard, Tennyson or Milton sits here,

Here is seated me, and one of my kind.

They rhymed words and verses like Arcadia rained,

I just need the constant hum of my trifled mind.

She bestowed the strings of right note into the amateur's arms,

And now the virtuoso kept fiddling tunes of deserter charms.

Its been trey reigns,

That the winters felt harsher than the frosts,

As the springs felt drier than the riots,

And the summertides felt warmer than the first muggy seasons,

while sleeping in the daylights haunted more than the darker ones.

Unless you were acquainted with John 8:32, the truth shall make you free,

Alpha Omegas and Lucifers, destinies and rites were all for lifeless bees.

Or this core was never versed with constraints of yearnings,

Fringes came with blessing in this mortal mold

Or the heart wished to be Lord by the cues of these understandings.