The Wise Man

In his pockets, his hands he thrusts,
They reach out to no one, nothing he trusts.
A skeptic, cynical, and unforgiving,
Tis his life, his way of living.

A disdainful glare, to a glowing face,
This is how he replies to grace.
A kind offer, from an affectionate hand,
Is never genuine, deceit is always planned.

He never embraces, for a knife may be behind,
Of all the friendly faces, all are not so kind.
He never smiles, for that would reveal,
That he has weakened his barrier of steel.
He never speaks in conversation,
Because all words are false, they have no denotation.
Promises do not exist, for they are never kept,
He grips these rules with a Herculean fist, for he will never be in a persons debt.

He is wise, to live this way,
He shall never be deceived, he shall never have to pay.
He is proud of his wisdom, his only joy,
It is foolish to live in optimism, for it is wise to be coy.
He is clever, to always declare Never!
To never commit, is to use your wit.

His heart is of lead, but he has a steady head.
He will never be deceived, therefore he will never grieve,
However, there is the love that he will never receive.
For he never forgives, nor gives at all,
And so he lives, in bitterness and gall.
Yet he is witty, though his life is sh*tty,
And he is smart, though he has no heart.

And so his hands rot in his pants,
On account of his fear, for he will never take a chance.
His pride his shackles, his fear his crutch,
Never will he, trust too much.