The Man It Sticks To

I think you were an anomaly,
an aberration with an austere admonition,
you had an aura about you,
of an amatory anecdote revealed in your anointing.

It was to make amends that you anteed all in,
but you cashed it all out to acquit those asunder.

An ample aspiration you were able to end,
through astute acquisition of audacity, annulled;
Where you assumed the role in alb,
And you don’t aspire to abdicate it yet.

But which of your words are absurd and which abhor our analogies?
With allegories august, it’s hard to acquiesce the amplitude of my soul.
Albeit amiable, how can I reconcile the ambiguity?

Where they thought you’d abolish, you’ve astonished
the world by your alacrity,
in defeating ambivalence
with your avid trust, robust.


And it stuck to you.

When the world stuck it to you,
It held you there.
In arboreal asymmetry, it held you there.

Yet it didn’t abolish your adept answer to obedience

Rather, by your ultimate aspiration,
you acquitted our animosity;
arbitrated our cause.
Just shy of late, you enacted anon;

But, alas, I’ve abated your words,
when I wish to abscond from such assignments.
It ails me to admit, but it hurt you all the more,
When you didn’t abort.

Despite the thought’s availed attempt;
it proved unavoidable in the arbor,
Still, You didn’t abort.