Well, let's get it started. Belated to the party. 
I'd hate to say the dismay I represent is only a testimony to a craze built inside my head.
We are the rhyme built- built upon the ancestors left behind- tribulations ahead.
Let's begin then, shall we? Undoubtedly, about us in a cloud of smoke.
Breathe in the expense that is- the romance that is- the essence that was what's left, I wrote.
Long winded, incriminated with the insincerity of an incendiary grenade.

Like I said- I'm the dismay at the end of the day. The freedom set ablaze.
The stone thrown too far offshore. I am the streets to the whore. Witchcraft and a bore.
I am manic, the panic, planned with a simple panning. havoc-commanding and deceived.
I am what we all are, because Poetry, are we.
I thank you for the hospitality. 
As the curtains close and audience bursts alive.
While the crew shuffles back and forth, the actors falter, 
the writers contrive. 
I've bowed my head one too many times.
At the whim of the eyes that beg for entertainment; 
devoid, deprived.
We are the actors on the stage. 
Pulling strings, butterfly wings on the field.
Making the little happenings certain, 
the little steps to which the end yields.
We are but moving time, among a realm.
Giving way to the amass of actions that fall in place, 
like weapons we wield.
We are the hymn of the night, the song of the day.
We are the limerick of chaos, the ode- in a way.
We've been the enemy, the flagholder, and cherish praise. 
The merit teller, the ethical molder, and lyrical dismay.
We've bowed our head one too many times.
We've written the story, and from the curtain- behind.
These little actions help the other occur, you see.
Because we are the bastion of words, acted, indeed.
Bow your head once more. Because poetry, are we.
Hope you enjoy the insanity.