Grandma gave rugrat a gift,
Into the toy box I did lift,
It was so plastique,
Not quite fantastique,
Grandma, Grandma, where were you,
When I stepped on Lego at 4:32?
Foul language approached,
On my bare foot it encroached,
Sheer hell, granny, thank you not,
No wonder I am now a sot!
Plastic-like faces, paid for, made for, create *abomination
in an *attempt to court the *affection of the unworthy.
*Bloom, oh fragile rose, scent the air, age gracefully,
leave no ungrateful shadow to *bamboozle the blind.
Cherish each crease in the dog-eared page of your life.
*Flame on, show your *inner soul, ignite with diligent
*passion, and dexterous fingertips the core.
For what is true beauty, if not the lines caused by loving laughter.
*Relationships come and go, false tarts *scorn and *struggle
with the tides of time, and *taste none of the *tender sweetness
of true love, being left eternally *yearning.
Does the Holy Ghost
exist
in the walls
of blinking light chapels?
Or in some type
of bobbing
side-to-side
dashboard symbolism?
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