Oh weep on, child
There is little hope on sea
Though now your squids little be
At midlife they are krakens, vile and strong
Play well, my child
Your toys are things of fun
Forget not to slip upon the spill
Yes nurse your wound in tears
The scratch the first of many
Oh the days of youth
When he spelled his 'Pornishment' starting with a certain 'Porn'
And his 'Deepression' starting with a certain 'Deep'
Blunt and short the arrows of the mighty man had made a failed escape.
Caged in freedom, in diverse lusts and quests
Life dealt its dose-only halfway- of leisure, pressure and warmth
Perhaps we have flattered the pain of youth
It is fat, though not fat as a lie
Sweat, blood and tears behind the veil abound
Weep now that it has no shame
And wait not till a man's tears near Haram drops
Though anxiety cleaves unto his heart
With the romance of thirst on a parched throat
He dares not cry
He heaves a sigh, signs a cheque, and checks his heart
Yes, he must guard, my child, against something cardiac,
fatality at times could come
Yes, from militant thoughts it charges
Few be Kings, few be mad, need we find a ruler?
What metrics measures joy?
To what end, dear man, were you born,
and to what escape would you die?
Yes, time did wait from eternity's infinite past
And now counts to eternity's infinite future
Man thus comes, my child, a recorder of naught
He spends in relative duration but a snap of fingers
Barely starting to understand himself
Or to pick his pen to write
He is old and soon dies
Weep on, my child