Somewhere beyond the cup of tea,
Waiting for me,
Is a wide open pea-pod,
Dreaming of a cod,
Who never had a single wish,
To be part of the petri dish.
Late at night,
I dream of spite,
That I thought I’d banished out of sight,
But beyond the trickling ultra violet light,
My mind has been set,
Can never repay its matriculating debt.
To whom do I owe?
This blow to my heart,
To my minds cycling art.
In which realm did this start?
Which witch cracked a fart?
I’ll never know,
Does not matter which way the ocean doth flow,
Never mind the rainbow threads we sew into the milky way.
Every single day I awake,
Try to put a stake in the ground,
But afraid to make a single sound of truth.
Hiding in behind the booth of lies,
Echos of the why’s linger in the bottles of spirits,
Drinking away their once remarkable merits.
I once bought two ferrets,
They round orange pellets,
For lunch and dinner,
My father thought one to be a sinner,
And the other to be a winner.
No room in the middle.
I begged for him to play the silent fiddle,
but instead he spoke to the pine cones,
tell them a riddle,
that he did,
reminded them to not be such drones.
Perhaps I ought to listen too.
Before the twilight owl sues me.