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"Poor Mr. Hume I" Original Poetry

Updated on January 29, 2014
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Poor Mr. Hume...

I am Desmond Hume in a suit
With resume file and smile to boot
My style is crude my vile is mute
I'm modest with an honest heart in dispute
I speak out with words to the wise
I'm ignored for the fact that I lack a disguise
No, there's no act in my eyes
If there were I'd demand a speedy demise
An evening of lies, a treason of soul
The Tao of greed you leave in your bowl
Becomes comfort in colors like stale looking grass
And look at the weeds you've amassed
But believed you have class because of your act
But perception, isn't it fact?...

A tailored suit and a hint of perfume
Are a prison for poor Mr. Hume
If he continues to think that the heart captivates
Then Poor Mr. Hume is doomed
If Mr. Hume cannot understand
That hearts swells in the hand of a swell businessman
Then Poor Mr. Hume is doomed
It is not your love or what of your name
It's the cut of your suit when playing the game
And the game is life.
Fiance, finance, child and mild wife

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