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Poem

Rosemary's normal, there's nothing amiss, 
Puts her feet in shoes one at a time, 
But what makes her remarkable really is this: 
Rosemary chose to get married to Bliss.

How these two hooked up I really can't say
But their poetry seems to just rhyme, 
And they still sing in tune at the end of the day: 
Life always seems to be headed for play! 

What is the magic that drew Bliss to her, 
Was there richness of soul others lack? 
Yet it's said she knows tragedy like connoisseur: 
Hopelessness something that one might infer? 

How is it she feels a love you don't feel, 
Tends to ride in a pink Cadillac? 
Should you give up your prideful boast you know what's real: 
Is there a chance you might win on appeal? 

Certainty she feels that her love will last, 
Does this arrow not fit your bow's string? 
Is this virtue the birthright of some special caste: 
Were you in bed when the baton was passed? 

When was the last time death looked in your eyes? 
Tell me what sort of bribe might you bring? 
The lamb's blood on the doorpost is what I'd advise: 
Grace is protection from all of life's lies.

Brian Johnston
May 10, 2016

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