I have a tree tall, virid, and shady.
Like the moon I see from my car-
It follows me and shines all the way!
Some like me glance at it as they pass by-
while many linger under it like a boudoir!
Still, there it stands tall exuberantly!
Its leaves are virid with greed and jealousy-
yet shady with indifference and spar!
Deceit for comfort, what a bawdry!
From a distance you can see its fruits-
Yellow, red, peachy, green, with char!
Colors meant to shroud a soughing harpy!
Unlike other trees its fruits are wordy-
yet bewitching, playing hearts like a sitar!
Walk by, sit, or glance, each to his thee!
Yellow psychopaths ripe with torment aptly-
sing acapellas so cagey for pourboire!
Czars crossing morality’s boundary!
Red with compulsion they perfect farcy-
of daily fibber with habit and savoir!
One bite sends wrong blurring right lividly!
Peachy with libel and candid rails so cheeky-
even to a commissar and a cavalier-
their twists seem so bonnie!
Green with bona fide yet so boozy-
they accessorize reality with a mylar!
How can something be so sinewy and brawny?
My tree gives and takes fruits brambly!
My tree is every popinjay’s lodestar-
that is found in every head, society, and country!
Between being vain and a liar is a very thin line... this poem sheds light on both liars and popinjays!