Played the big man and talked the talk
All that was left was to walk
But courage was gone as was the wish
Felt headless and on a dish
Served up to the forever kings
The ones to which it meant nothing
So now sit amongst the trash
Counting all the absent cash
Symphonies still plague the mind
Cutting right through the rind
Exposing what lurks below
Cautions that never did flow
Peacocked until the night did come
Felt like being under the gun
A buck short and a day late
Words to never comtemplate
That is the truth and know it too well
Goes the ringing of this bell
What comes next is up for debate
Maybe its time to re-evaluate
Simon A Jackson - Writer 