I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
I'm a bad idea Walking into a cafe Thanks to a flawed map
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Some contemporary minds seem so smug Dismissing the soul as a quaint, old myth Sweeping sublime strangeness under the rug
Spurn the pious fraud Who loudly proclaims his faith And worships himself
In the cells of every small, caged pet Lurks the biography of a monster Clever primates are so quick to forget How little then and now really differ
Who determines the cost of betrayal? How highly do we value loyalty? Should the traitor expect a portrayal Sympathetic, or marked by great beauty?
While others slumber You prepare the staff of life Gluten tolerant
What magic is there in a simple rhyme? Admittedly, there is some sonic charm In causing syllables to march in time Domesticating free words does no harm
Had you gazed at your own, scaly image And recognized yourself in that dark pool You might have inaugurated an age
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
