I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Had you gazed at your own, scaly image And recognized yourself in that dark pool You might have inaugurated an age
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Rare and precious is the one born to lead Mediocre bosses, over their heads Are as common as memos we don’t read The sleep we lose softly feathers their beds
To tell the story Become an invisible Tender observer
It's temporary Just like everything else Not excluding time
One must respect the narrative technique When an obstinate skeptic is woven Into a tale audacious, nigh unique Who doubts that bread emerged from yonder oven
Our enigmatic origins have been The subject of many peculiar tales; Sacred, secular, lofty and obscene Many involve a villain with bright scales
Be a villain, then But with some grace, some real style Who loves sloppy fiends?
Do it as if this Is your last chance to do this Well, for it may be
Most carnal pleasures are forbidden me My bed is cold and lonely as a tomb Never will I a naked maiden see Nor see my son spring from her fertile womb
You can and do read That is beautiful, for you Give worlds of words life
I am a dusty fossil, dry and old My lectures include no bright, flashing slides When the words of the text are ductile gold
I was invisible and she was seen Snow sweetly sauntering through autumn leaves Playing the voyeur seems somewhat obscene
