Friday, 8 January 2010


I’m suffering from post tension,
And sounds of feral laughter;
An ominous portent
Of disaster.

I used to abuse ignorance,
My pictures turning crimson,
Alarming in abundance,
And winsome.

And people who walked across my path
Became indignant wretches
By exchanging photographs
For sketches.

And some time favours came my way,
Forever entertaining,
And with occasional decay
Came learning.

Without access to three star fare
I had to search the larder,
But was still unable to prepare
A pardon.

And cordially we stretched along,
But still diluted quickly;
Some disgusting liquor beyond
The sickly.

Printed daily for the selling,
Whored and improvised,
Weakly told for your retelling
In front of Emperors’ eyes.

No comments:

Post a Comment