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A Tomb Built For A Fool



Where shall I rest my head,
Upon a lofty mountaintop with snow
In a green valley far, far below
Or buried deep within the evergreen pines
Nestled in with sleeping cones
Racing about with morbid afterthoughts.
With dark fire of delightful vengeance
The manna of desperation and glee
A fury of dead tortured spirits,
Eating upon a plain of loneliness;
Nay, the bitter is not in the brine,
A basket of rotten fruits still serves,
The appetite of the flies,
And the sickness that it deserves
vomits out the sins of the tiresome day,
A relentless thirst never satisfied,
Ever leaps into darkness,
Of despair and greedy lusts built on it
Where shall I rest my head,
Within a dark corner behind that stone
A shelter that eats my decaying heart,
This darkness of my Soul being all alone
A tomb built for a fool,
sour grapes smashed into wine
A CHILD born out of time,
With a needle in its right eye-
seeing, seeing but always halfway blind...

Robert J. Lindley, 05-06-2015
 
Note: Free verse, my muse warned me not to wade into such waters....
I being a stubborn mule , shot back-- "so what my feet are dirty, need 
cleaning and water is often so coooooooooool"..
A fool an his folly may embrace same as a great lover and his lady...

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