Muddy mire, sucking sand
Muck that pulls and swallows whole
Garbage clutched within the hand
Hoarded as a jeweled treasure
By imaginary measure
Leeching on a soul

Troubled trickster, smiling pain,
Dancing in his ignorance
Thinks he dances in the rain
But the blissful fool will drown
Washed away, the twisted clown
Never had a chance

Break his will before he burns
Everything that he holds dear
How is it he never learns?
Fire scars the more you hold,
Clay breaks if it will not mold
Clutch submission near

– s. Clark