Pretentious bore taking up the stage
when there is still time for me inside
to flex power over words
Early days spent bending legs until one day the tides came in
Until then how the inner child sings
Now the wrinkled old man
growing in here
speaks, casts awe into the eyes of those eager
the very words when spun into threads
those lines wound around a tree
material from nowhere
a jacket to cover the muscled vest
a fibre so strong people forget
a laugh only for later
unless they know where to look
the gold is plated with tin
Smiling before the season
the trees fell into the night
the children fast asleep
and the old men drunk themselves silly
and sing sitting on the ground
the heart beats out a tune
and the fuzzy dreams seem
to absorb the madness
in the harsh light
daytime entertains
in the silence
a bird sings