Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Leprechaun.

It's a humdrum, rat-a-tat
a green and dream day
as
Childhood's End
threatens to engulf you
tear you down, a frowning clown
so far from the Waterfall World
that mirage of delight, a maybe, a might
a weightless tickle
and
the Master's sickle
might come,
unless you run, little one, before you
use the spark
alone in The Dark
(or is it a Park?) to
flash and flutter
a goon in the gutter
hic - sigh
so let's
Never Say Die
let's
fly the streamers which
the Magic Dreamers
hang
when it's time
again
to Feel TM.

Try to hold that,

tightly

that one day
 
you will be

able

To Feel Again

without the cutting
shiv (the fear this prison instilled)
of The Past's Knife Edge
slid deep (ooh aah)
between The Bars
they visit
creepy crawly - sticky and stuck
as they wallow
(fat but busy)
in their own unfeeling muck.

So let them fuck.

That story grows old.

And chase your own rainbow.

And your own

Pot of Gold.









Thanks, Pony. x

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