Under the vast sombre sky,
marooned by dull,sheenless wall,
imprisoned by cast iron gate,
a garden with a thousand blossoms.
Tall,lifeless trees beside
stood in rows and columns.
Leaves from their unsteady branches
wilted and fumbled in air.
Dusty,green leaves everywhere,
inhaled and exhaled the languid air,
zephyrs blew incessantly 'round,
causing gales of sorrow and solitude.
A thousand young flowers stood,
fluttered in zephyrs that blew,
fell to the ground one by one,
unable to endure the madness of gale.
Amidst the excruciating gale,
and the obscure,rancid air,
stood one blood red blossom
without bowing to the inclement wind.
Spines protruded in air,
from its meagre,long stalk,
to fight the obtruding gale,
withot heeding its infirmity.
Under the sky in the sequestered garden,
beautiful prisoners fell dead.
One brave blossom stood upright,
the red solitary blossom.
This is poetry for us all when you can’t find the words.
Acerbic, angry, awful is this poems dream.
Bad, boring, balderdash are its major themes.
Childish, contemptuous, cynical to the last;
Daft, dizzy, desultory meanings that are vast.
Egregious, extemporaneous and extra bad,
Foolish, futile, fantasy, that's pretty sad.
Garish, grotty, ghastly that’s the score,
Hogwash, horrible, haunted what a bore.
Idiotic innuendos of the lowest kind,
Jumping jeering, jesters come to mind.
Kinky, kooky killjoys everywhere,
Lamentable lamebrains, all without a care.
Muddled, mindless mutterings in the night,
Nutty, neurotic nuances come to light.
Obtruding oafs with highly opaque lenses,
Permeate our all pervading senses.
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