The show that promised a lot
Have changed its afternoon plot.
The dog bit it’s feeder that doesn’t feel sly,
The spider made friends with a fly.
The play reached a point where it’s threatening,
The non-musical play, breathe a woman who hither and sing.
The show carried on to a varied flake,
The winter has cometh to Summer’s warm lake.
The polar bear’s brown,
The squirrels running around,
What could have been is been,
Oh, the things that are unseen.
The drought that ruined came not worse than this,
It’s the pain in the pump that stood dark in red bliss.
Like a knife in the liver is this word’s sin,
By she and him that once housed my kin.
The plot has risen to a different scene,
When sadists without killing now finally grin.
No birds in the sky no fish in the sea
No matter how hard the philosopher’s plea.
The ache that screamed from my leg to my brain,
Wrenched white blood from my hallowing drain.
The show that promised a lot has changed its plot,
Curtains, close, for loving it, I will be not.
YOU ARE READING
Poems and I
PoetryA collection of self-written poems. New poems will be added every time.
