More pans to wash …
More pans to wash!!!
They come umpteen times a day.
My hands are chapped,
My back is crook’d
I wish they’d go away.
But when they’re dry and shiny, sitting neatly on their shelves
My thoughts can turn to what comes next -
Some tasty treat, no longer vexed
I now ‘create; and undertake
Pie, bun, roast a glorious cake?
Foods to soothe the ravening beasts
My pans cook up some wondrous feasts.
Paranoia about the end times
how can we survive Armageddon
as if you could shield
from whats coming
who knows if
who knows when
who knows
will the doomsday
preachers and preparers
rest in peace
in their shelters
or
will their
Faraday cage
protect them
from their own fear.
i stand for my tears
when i'm hurt
i touch the ground with them
spatter and sear the fear
hanging my head
high or low
i share my thoughts
until it's my time to go
fighting for a leader
a leader quilted and unsightly
stricken for an absence of space
a plateau of ruins and wrinkles faceless
lost by desire
i was stricken so tasteless
cold weather wishing
driven me pale
back and forth
hoping that time sways us well
trapped in my four corners
Keeping my mail un-shelved
misery is a sanctum
you must rebuild yourselves
the preparers destiny
mumbling words of wisdom
when days become awry
choose your halo's and thank them
as a child my cornered demons
thwarted me freely
now congested to societies abnormality
my peers are subject to mirror me
the doom through my third eye
at the crescent of mercury's pyramid
a phantom to peaceful days
because i'm calling it as it appears to me
"every now and then we're given a fighter"