(Disclaimer: The name Malachi rhymed for the poem. If your name is Malachi, please don't take offense.)
This is a story of Malachi,
who uses every breath he had to lie.
With every lie there was a thread,
that wrapped around his lying head.
He painted stories rich and full,
as he stood upon his pedestal.
Flocks of friends would come and leave,
scores of which he'd deceive.
He told of grandeur and of strife,
whatever got him ahead in life.
Yet through it all he did not perceive,
the rope his lies seemed to weave.
Until one day when he saw the light,
he chose to leave his arrogant height.
He took a step forward for the better,
without seeing his strengthened fetter.
Suddenly he saw his fate,
but by then it was far too late.
A scream was stifled as he filled with dread,
his lies hung him until he was dead.
