Poem of Balance

It doesn’t matter what you put in the middle of a scale

Only evening out the plates 

With equal weight

Will allow you to prevail

Abe Lincoln was honest

The Machinist was frail

Only evening out the plates

Will allow you to prevail

Too much gamble

Too much drink

Will anchor a hedonic

And force them to sink

Too much shelter

Too much solitude

Will capture a nihilist

And destroy fortitude

Too much pleasure

Too much pain

Will amass a tumor

On an epicurean brain

Connecting the dots

And opening the eyes

Debunks both parties

And unifies

Only evening out the plates

With equal weight

Will allow you to prevail

It doesn’t matter what you put in the middle of a scale