Friday, October 14, 2011


Sometimes I grouse about things I dislike,
for my dreams have become gritty and powdery with time.
Sometimes I see grotesque pictures before my eyes,
but I just fumble and push them aside.
I don't want to make a killing or a bomb,
but i'm afraid if my irksome kins lay me off.
I can't stand like an iron pillar, I get flimsy and frail,
because sometimes words sting me worse than an apian.
I don't sport a bedaub over my face,
it's not unfathomable to be on good terms with me or my base.
Be bountiful enough and you'll see,
all the true colours of me will set free.
I may like to croon, to troll, to trill,
nobody can desist me from doing what I will.

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