The Cobra's Countenances
One look holds a thousand meanings. Free-verse.
x
One look upon his face
Means a whole thousand others.
And they don't always mean
What you think they might.
His smile isn't really a smile.
It's deception in its prettiest form.
His laugh isn't really a laugh.
It's mockery in its truest form.
But if everything is just a
Lie,
Then what could possibly be the
Truth?
A grimace.
A scowl.
A growl.
A glare.
Anything that shows he knows he is
Losing.
And once he starts losing,
He starts to
Fall apart.
Because he needs to win.
Because if he doesn't
Then what is he
Worth?
Money.
Fame.
Beauty.
But pride?
His tank is almost empty.
And if he doesn't get refueled.
He just might
Crash.
It's sickening how
He is so
Weak
In that way.
Wasn't he raised
To be so much
Better?
Wasn't he raised
To be so much
Stronger?
It is no surprise
That he is
Our biggest loss.
x
His countenances are counted.
One, two, three.
Smirk, chuckle, smile.
Four, five, six.
Scowl, glare, grimace.
Seven, eight, nine.
He ran out of time.
x
The looks upon his face
Tell you everything,
And nothing.
That tear
That strayed without his knowledge,
Tells you he's weaker
Than the world made him out to be.
That's a pity.
He was supposed to be so great.
My son.
My prize.
My failure.
A/N: My first free-verse poem. :O Wow. It's kind of short... but I don't really think poems are supposed to be long, because then they drag on longer than necessary. Please point out any mistakes, if any.
Thanks for reading :) Hope you enjoyed it.