Flint Mitted Monkeys
In the millionth season
they've finally blossomed
ready to garnish a famished brain,
but mind monkeys will pillage a garden
snatching anything fruitful away...
Screaming atop flint branches
just beyond trembling reach.
Sitting so smug while casually sniffing butts.
Bouquet of scythes in mitts of flint
chattering away...
"If you want it so badly,
come fetch the scent of your dream, indecision man".
All the while I'm idling in a barrel of gasoline.
Mind monkeys nibbling the heads off the dream.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
