The Dilemna of Man
Is not in men to know the mind
Of whom we call our womankind.
We think we know their motivation
Based on years of observation.
In truth we simply stumble on
And hope like hell we come upon
A gutsy maiden needing laying.
We pump our bodies full of crap
To do the old protector wrap,
And seemingly have high ambition
To meet the call of needs provision.
Of entertainment, there’s the call,
Needs provider and protector fall
To lower ranking as it seems
Mind heart and soul doth love moon beams.
We’re talking here of our survival
Of a species with revival
Proclaiming it is blessed with wit
But also cursed with abusing it.
Womankind were deemed the role
To make sound selection from genes bowl
Of all the positive aspects for
To carry, mother, nurture more.
We simply there to prove our case
And driven by a primeval haste
Entangled in a social fabric
Woven with some female magic.
Venus is the one we’d win
But this can turn to anything
For pedestals are great for Gods
But we’re fair driven by our cods.
They trapped us in this social fabric
Woven with that female magic,
Trapped us in our honor and duty
To stop us playing the other beauty.
To war we go to earn the rights
To deliver on our appetites,
Trusting in their loyalty,
We challenged by infidelity.
It’s best not said what happened then;
We team up and learn to shut up
Polished off others all aspiring
Got the rights to their conceiving.
Survival is a monstrous thing
Has no morals to do the mixing
Of all that’s in that bowl of genes
We’re victims of a billion themes.
Let them learn to live without us
Fight that war, have fun, have lust
Don’t listen to the pacifist ploy
Be boys, be men, the real McCoy.
Lyrical is not the word.
This train of thought is quite absurd.
Woman choose who to believe in
Fearing most that you will leave them.
History is the record writ
Of mostly failures in this pursuit.
That the meek shall inherit the world
Is the wisest crack for men born too bold.
If they want us do their bidding
They’ll have to find a way more fitting;
Wash our clothes and do the ironing,
Cook our feeds and stop us whining,
Smile at us and talk enticing,
Birthday cakes with all the icing,
Believe in us and in the future,
Help us help them do the nurture.
So love will happen in its own time
And lay submerged until the right time.
That feint heart never won fair lady,
She give hers only when she’s ready.
And even when the chips are down
Wake up and run, but never frown.
She’ll love you for the man you are
Hers neatly packaged in her jar.
This painting is by artists Nop Briex who was born July 10, 1965 in The Netherlands, as Norbert Lambriex. Here are some words from his website:
Finding a beautiful composition, subject or visualizing an experience or situation. Color, light, shape, the making process and the final result make me happy. But most of all, through my work I want to make the viewer aware of my moments I had, the places I have been and new images about which I dream.
In my work, how simple or complex, the viewer experiences a certain atmosphere that is moving. An impression of that one moment.
