My Place: the Flesh of Flashy Bait
I fear that you are lonely, so I hope I pull you in,
My place is warm, but quite a mess,
I’m glad you have stepped in,
My space is has been divided,
By the mad, the sane and should,
We’ll take a tour, but just be warned,
It’s no blissful neighbourhood,
On your right shoulder, a bulb burns your polyester,
A fickle light to, a forest of wooden floors,
Dotted and then cut, you go under,
Below the fleeting veils of a whispered law,
Beyond the currents, in which you blister,
To part the grip of the mantis clause,
And end the starlight, which piles upon,
A playground spun with metal shores,
Leave your thoughts, for we have just passed,
The madness, I still endure,
But don’t breath relief, for their is still some believe,
That the sane could be called the unsure,
For no nature, is the nurture,
To those impossible... deep-cutting dreams!
And kill me if I wonder, or even so ponder, within your immeasurable means!
For I’ve lost my heart, and my so called soul,
To a place that you have termed ‘real’,
Where every action, bland in its satisfaction,
Entices the ungrateful to feel!
Lastly we come, or so stumble upon,
A world that I label the should,
It’s here where you deal, with feelings unreal,
And I question what you understood,
For this is a place, where my angels, you may sleep,
Amongst the livestock and the hay,
Groom each other,
Or sharpen your claws,
Just rest my birds of prey...
And so a place is all it takes,
To become estranged with everyday,
Where a seconds a second,
And not a moment left in wait,
Just another attention spun,
Around the flesh of flashy bait,
Copyright © Francois Hillebrand | Year Posted 2011
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