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Poem

I once knew a bricklayer named Bruno 
And a lunatic known as Joan, 
A Buddhist some called Judas 
And a policeman who was always stoned.

Now Bruno wasn’t brilliant
But he sure could build a wall – 
And when he wasn’t making mortar
He heard a different call.  

Some say it came from mixing up
The water, mud and sand
While others say he had a friend
Only he could see and understand.  

He often talked while working
To his invisible, fanciful friend
Who taught him how to build high arches  
That reached the sky and wishful winds.  

Joan heard voices and made big choices
Like building castles in the clouds – 
For God and friends her head would spin
And no one knows quite how. 

While Judas was a peaceful man 
Always smiling from deep within – 
But someone killed him, mistakenly  
For some other traitorous friend.

And last but not least the policeman,  
A stoner on the beat – 
Who never arrested anyone 
Being usually half asleep.

While loving his mortal enemy  
Even those who wished him dead – 
He didn’t seem to mind being lost in time
“I have the right to remain silent,” he said. 

The moral of this story
If ever one exists –
Is nothing more and nothing less
Than every soul is entitled to bliss.

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