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Poem

Twister, spinning out of human control.
Emotions, can anyone make out the end?
The only comfort is that we will all leave soon.
So get you ticket soon before they sell out.
The line out by the booth is shrinking, it seems.
Is it lack of money, or lack of interest.
Maybe even perhaps a lack of faith
Either way it indeed a sad sight to see.
The ticket master is shielding himself from the storm.
The sun will not appear until all seats are sold.
Could it be tomorrow or one-hundred years from now?
No one knows, not even our counter man.
From what I heard, one day his boss will say,"that's enough."
And even though there will still be good spots left
What the boss says goes.
These tickets aren't hard to come by.
Couldn't be easier as a matter of fact.
How much for this great trip of a lifetime you ask?
All it takes is a little time.
You have your ticket, good now pay attention.
You can't lose this stub once you have it.
As long as you follow the rules the ticket master gives you.
This seems way too easy, what's the catch here?
No strings attached, you just must put your faith in the ticket master.
For you see, he also built this booth with his hands.
And if you look really close, you can see scars on his palms.
He died to give you  this ticket.
So please, take your ticket, and let the next in line get theirs.
And have a great trip.

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