Sponge

He became a joke,
He laid down red carpets
And fought for nothing,

A knight without intrigue,
He tried to sing songs
But his lyrics were wretched.

In the cold light of day
He was nothing but lonely,
A dog without blankets,

He spent hours just thinking,
Imagine that, ‘just thinking’,
He was dead to the mirror.

All he wanted was yesterday,
A rewritten history,
A logic without diversion or lies,

All he got was the rain
And a down pour at that,
He was sponge and the sky was an ocean.

Poetry.net

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