Making do

Oh, cool it brother,
for the tragic
could also be the tonic
for your self discovery.
Every man has his load to carry.

Ah, the nagging propensity of my urge,
but see the sorry meagreness
of this my small knowledge.
Which I go beating my chest,
and noising around.
Me with my scanty vocabulary,
the consequential result
of my barren library.

Hence in place of real bricks,
I make do with these fragile words.
Labouring to leave lasting legacies too.
And consoling myself by thinking,
that perhaps soon,
I too would come to learn
to spin a heartier lampoon.