the songs
never cease
in my darling prison,
in my "life of ease."
prisoners love
to chirp chirp chirp
without thought or form,
rhythm or rhyme, with a quip or a burp
thrown in for "good measure"
to cover the flaws of their souls--
alas,
chirping and burping won't fix the holes
in their character,
in their intelligence
or integrity;
especially when lacking in benevolence.
the songs
never cease
but someday, they will,
and I'll receive not one tease;
no, not even a "please"
will leave the fish-lips;
the cloudy fish-eyes only stare,
bloated and bleary.
I could scream and scream
until my voice fades, weary--
but a ghost of their intentions
cannot interrupt their decay.
the songs never cease,
but my hearing shall fade.
YOU ARE READING
Words for a Friend
PoetryYou wanted me to write you poems about anything; I wanted something to inspire me again. A random assortment of personal, serious poems and random blathering. (cover photo not mine) Completed.
