Scope of my pride,
With a twist of wisdom and wit,
Is it hard to notice
The night turning over
To the peer of the morning sun
While the frozen ground is cracked
From a winter's chill
Like the chapped lips of a cigarette aficionado.
You beseech me
And I abide by your appeal
Like a doctor with a weak anesthetic,
Yet you stand outside, watching the sun rise
With a roll tucked between your pouting lips
Like a man under the pin of a shark's jaw
As the teeth clench and he uses his last breaths
To try to kill it before it kills him.
I can only say a prayer for you
As I've done so many times before,
Wishing for your comfort and happiness
Like a repetitive drone with a repetitive desire,
But it makes no difference to the eyes and ears of this world.
God will chop away at you
Like a surgeon running late for a dinner party,
And you will deteriorate
Like the awe inspiring pages of a classic novel's
First print. I will spare the expense
And carefully turn each page,
Reading each chapter under strict scrutiny
As a devout fan and honest critic,
Loving, appreciating and admiring every word
Until the day the binding
Loses its touch
And falls apart.