The Mysterious mysteries of Mr. Ease.

You might, unexpectedly, feel well-at-ease, when first you meet Mr. Ease,
for as his name implies, he soars, he glides, effortlessly, a breeze,
through life, through love, and even rain,
through cities and gatherings and treacherous terrain,
and oblivious he seems to be of how, to our frailties, he is a tease.

And those are but part of the mysteries that Mr. Ease is.

Whence did he come from and why?
Why do all such questions just pass us by?
He takes and rakes, with no outcry,
And should he wish, for him we'd die.

And those are but part of the mysteries that Mr. Ease is.

He is a leader and a god
He is a hero to behold,
He is a summer made of gold,
and to his will, we shall all fold.

And those are but part of the mysteries that Mr. Ease is.

He seems to have gotten from our suspicions a lease.
We bid him do, just as he please.
He is the queen, and we the bees,
our purpose his longings to appease.

And those are but part of the mysteries that Mr. Ease is.

He has the mojo and the cool,
the karma and the sex appeal;
before him we all seem to drool,
in his light bask and in his shadow kneel.

And those are but part of the mysteries that Mr. Ease is.

For the greatest of those mysteries,
the body of paradox that lies beneath this iceberg's tip,
if you would permit me such a quip,
is that alone at night the underdog, as he, his self, sees,
weeps bitter tears that publicly he fights inside to keep,
and laments why- oh why, no one challenges the man called Mr. Ease?

_____________________

Shortly after composing this darned poem I googled Mr.Ease.

It happens to be a trademarked anal lubricant.

This gives this poem a whole new dimension.