by Max Kwoa
To dearest Irony, swallowed by instant thinking, marketability, and political correctness.
|Irony, O Irony
Mellow fumes of incense waltzing above your grave,
Barely soothe myriads of senses all so livid,
Enraged by the ignominy of your passing.
Deterring pompous arrogance defined your quest;
Glorious battles facing bored minds all so rigid,
To safeguard powerless wit in cardiac arrest.
Mellow fumes of incense waltzing for your passing,
Now completely unnerved hopes once all so vivid,
And with wifi on, such trifle feels all but grave.
Kwoa's (Naive) World Trip