Lights of luxury,

sounds of lightness;

the intoxication of the moon so high above.

As lavishness abides,

the outlook of life: so simple, so plain.

It is all but a massive excuse,

of one person - to another 

all is lost in a sea of extravagance.

No shame in anything, 

all is correct - all is for that one flower; that Daisy. 

The height of grandeur upon one,

masking the sorrowful fictitiousness of it all.

The experience of shallow glory 

(that is all a facade).

Taken in the blink of an eye,

In man’s need for revenge.

In the quiet moments,

where the truth is more an opponent, even between friends. 

It shows through to the blinding deceit.

The glam of falsehood stripped,

leaving behind desperation.

The air of one claimed unbiased - until proven so. 

Willing to help one but shame another.

Fascinated by the aspects of his charm, 

but falling into a pit as that charm fades.

Pools of ironic fate, 

condemns those, held responsible.

Those thought to be admirers -  

proven themselves to be caught in prevarication; 

the unwillingness to acknowledge selfless selfishness.

Few true, to one who built himself of ambition,

greatness denied from life to death.

All works forgotten, left unacknowledged

amidst the new era, 

left behind to be contributed as,

“The Great American Novel.”