Broken Bow...

Holding jaw high, proud As animated, raw crowd Awards unmerited noises loud. Seen as 'miracle worker' Yet, if truly knowing self Would elate at being despised... Grasping that his faith Shamelessly he compromised Walking in unfitting shoes, Formidably disguised. Raising face high, proud As enthusiastic, thick crowd Rewards with unearned sounds loud. Looked upon as 'miracle worker' Still, if truly knowing self Would grieve facing undue praise Grasping that he failed to show a face Conceding faith in multiform ways Striding in garment disguised Subteen... sterile... sterilized... Choices beefed up with satanic ties If knowing self Would exult at being despised Inflated buffoon with caustic lies Set down as 'miracle worker' Instead as a lost fellow Needing heart rich and mellow Dressing in suit on credit With no liable human merit... Just a broken violin bow... In the Hand of Divine Artist... Is he eager to conform? Willing to sow... to grow? Battle ever persistent foe? Seek for true cause to glow? Executive mansion Puppet master Hubristic, horripilant Cunning noggin Leader of disaster! ..................................................................................... All of us - just unfit instruments In the Divine Artist's Hands...