Song of Peter Pan
My waterfall of spiral light
hearing the pitter pat
of endless night
of rolling blue Danube thoroughfare junction
flowing to the right
of sequines' songbird function,
Eye, the crescent moon
ebbing and bulging in yr sight,
can only wonder
how you capture
the Sun's fiery light...
crying and can't pinpoint Y
I think joy has overcome
my reason to question why
I've given up reading
all those escapist books,
for everything in mynd
has been growing cold,
the beer on my breath
is stale and old
fuzzy froth
my beard, the hot
chicky broth...
Why do some choose
separate doors
to sleep behind
and row away without oars?
I prefer to play like children with kites and wind,
to never grow up -
to be a mountain,
a bard
and a friend
to a juxtaposition
of old animal lore;
they speak to me when
the adults have given
me a bore,
Why must things be "just so"? and more:
the shiny silver
the crystal,
the green liquor bottles,
the trial of gastritis inside romance novels,
and why Eye continue
crying as I write this
soul a - spying,
whimpering from the loss
of someone I could not
own, control, or boss,
I finally respect myself
again
because now I can be
my own friend,
and You, my newbell and
tinker
whom I hve fallen for
hook, line, and sinker
a young fairy
older than her daze
exploring space, but following
a personal sort of maze,
I give you this ring
of thee I sing
unafraid but in proportion
to yr fairy wing,
I glow with persperation
aside said proposition:
Give us this day
hour daily bread
In hills of Valhala where
waters' cold in head
to start with ice dams
fish hatcheries
and the like,
of trout flopping with
orangegreen and streaking pike,
of a Neverland
straight on till morning
my starlight
in white,
I'll pull down the silver
streaking moon tonight
and give you the
collection of dust
which you'll keep
in a box of starlightening trust
of these good intentions
I send
to You, morningafter
fairy - within you
I'll sleep...
Copyright © Mark Riedel | Year Posted 2006
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