The clock tics and toks
Hands around the wall
Journing nowhere
Like a clichèd psycho
Mind a broken record
That clock tells a lie.
Captured wonderer
In wayless roam
So is that clock
In its ticking stroam
Mine is a rooster
That daily awakens
All before day break
To take up loads
For the daily roam
Yours tics in minutes
Mine dawns with sun
I dont waste any
In sunlight slumber
For the cock crows
To remind me of freedom.
Whenever it crows
I know freedom calls
For a sweet sweat
I get as i work.
Categories:
wayless, freedom,
Form: Free verse
The curse, the lethargy,
conceived out of wedlock Dawn and Day,
the mother-in-law of the race of the Ogres,
the tub filled with toads, vipers and snakes,
the cohabitant who always stays out -
here's a partial list of the problems
that await the true princesses,
whereas a dreamless sleep is a soteriological ideal of any Buddhist.
Bent over the beautiful princess,
I feel a pang of mercy,
and, rising from my knees, get out of here -
by little Mopsey, the Princess's spaniel, which is lying on the bed,
by the hypothetical fire upon the hearth,
by the doormen in whose cups wine turned into mold long ago
and beyond,
through the wayless wood of existence,
which is not a problem for my ladylove anymore.
As Charles Perrault rightly stated:
“Thorns part before a royal blood only”.
1St Corinthians 13:13 Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina Riddle
Categories:
wayless, love,
Form: Free verse