Adieu, Adieu! yon silver night sky,
For 'tis tonight that I dare to ask why,
It is that I only now say a fair hello,
To the man I am and do not know.
A self portrait of sorts must all artists do,
Whether or not they know exactly who,
They are inside when the brush dips in,
The paint of life from wither all begin.
Yet here shall rest a medley of rhymes,
That act as a portrait detailing my crimes,
Against my self for which I do so revel,
While reveling beside me sits the Devil.
For I have little idea of the man I am,
So through this poem I shalt try to exam.
THE PORTRAIT PAINTED
He was born to a Mother and Father proud,
And so a cloud of pride did enshroud,
This outcast, this pariah as he grew,
Into the child who so little knew.
As a boy born of freedom so oft' does,
He had nary a sense what struggle was.
At the year four, his parents so split,
From the vows to which they did commit.
And so this boy would know a broken home.
As a childhood home that was his own.
Too young to know what to make thereof,
This apparent abandonment of true love,
He would float throughout spans of time,
In his imagination so sublime.
His Brother who was his senior two years,
Would so feed off his younger's fears,
In response to the lack of figure Father,
The older would take upon himself the bother,
Of teaching and guiding our poem's subject,
Through youth in hopes of being correct,
When it came to the life he knew nothing of,
Nay, he was but two years in age above,
Our boy, so what could he possibly know,
About the knowledge he tried to bestow.
For now our boy was without two things;
The Brother of Princes. the Father of Kings.
Now to his mother he looked and prayed,
And to her side he loyally stayed.
In this pattern he sailed through youth,
Not knowing the fiction from the truth.
Out of many schools he was wretched,
Due to how his Mother's dollar stretched.
So friends were a pleasure not to be had,
By this child whose thoughts were sad.
When his age into double digits crashed,
His awareness of life left him abashed.
Within a few years a girl showed to the boy,
That after all this still to be had was joy,
From relations with people besides those,
That live with he and that he knows.
T'was a new era for our tortured subject,
That in the part following we will upon reflect.
For the next few years and years beyond,
A new style of life of which he grew fond,
Was that of one he should have known before,
And to make up time he began to explore,
At a pace perhaps some would deem risky,
That involved vodka, gin and whiskey.
Before reaching twenty years of age,
Against the machine he deemed fair to rage,
And so his few friends began to wane,
Leaving him to roam his own domain,
Within a psyche diseased from the start,
That should have taken notes from his heart.
Ay! 'Tis here our child became a man detached,
From his future ahead and his past snatched.
No stranger to lust but one to new love,
He grew fast into a being devoid of,
Social skills that would be needed soon,
In his broken life's quarter life swoon.
Caught in a web of anxiety and hate,
He found it increasingly hard to relate,
To those around him in school and play,
That seemed to effortlessly show and display,
The skills that were needed from one his age,
To preform on the unforgiving adolescent stage.
There wasn't a woman he failed to want,
But all he wanted seemed to flaunt,
The fact that other men clearly waived,
What these women so clearly craved.
After knowing many women abound,
And drinking many spirits around,
He began to wonder what the purpose was,
To this life. A thought he thought because,
Nary an answer had been proposed to he,
Who was never given a guarantee,
That life would give those who longed,
A reason to forgive those who wronged,
He when he was to young and did wonder
If man was held criminal for every blunder.
Through many a phase our man sped through,
And many an experience he did accrue.
Tis time that we bid fair adieu,
To the past we have fallen into.
PART II, coming soon.... if you so care, to follow through...