The simpering chimp

The simpering chimp was pretty limp,
When in the morning he read his replies.
My god, he spat.  Did I do that?
And the daybreak broke upon his cries.

The day grew loud but he, less proud,
As he looked upon his works.
His verse perverse, his voice, a curse.
All his characters, apparently, were jerks.

The sun beat down upon his frown,
As he brought them back to life.
They may be lame, his pride proclaimed
But at least share them with your wife.

Or vain, he thought, this way is fraught
With dangers from the Dark.
Best yourself, or be dust on the shelf,
For your Maker knows your Mark.