Splenetic

If I admit here that I've been splenetic,
Your equanimity, making you proud,
Should shame you. I entreated, pleaded, vowed,
Dismissed your meditative, dull aesthetic
As diuretic, you the dull ascetic,
An unballetic, an emetic shroud
For genuine emotion, a sad cloud
Of mere regret, not doubtful, nor syncretic.

You're not the worst thing that I've ever seen,
But pride's not called for. I demand the new,
The undeniable, the bold, the true,
And you were hiding. I was never mean,
And though you say you've had too much of spleen,
Great deeds were done, and none were done by you.