Slings, Jokes, others

Prince, sulk beneath a hooded light,
When I say this joke however mean,
I truly do mean in stronger word,
That we’ll in charms have seen,
A misery a soul equipped to laugh,
Yet he would not in sight bestow;
A joke remains so, unseen, unheard;
Like a key, poking that dark hole,
Poking and turning, nudge and feel;
Resistance borne from persistence none,
He’ll let me in and then joke is none,
How sweet is the irony, the cheers!
Unlock when no lock is nigh;
Unlock.
But, no, sanity is my weakest noun,
Indeed, as you have said, I am most sane.
The most angelic and free, a God-enduring,
I forbid all evil mine eyes cross,
I kiss the cross, the Qur’an, the scrolls!
Throw yourself into a sea of words God
Pronounces so vividly for y’endure!
That storm of pages strikes so wound a chasm,
Now is knowing no more, thinking raptured part,
Tis this irony that I speak of,
Tis comedy till no laugh is sought no more,
Though this we call a world, given birth a reason
Makes devoid of laughter at all things wry,
And still the comedic tale remains!
The stage remains open. The curtains fall, yes;
But the act continues. On the streets, at sea. Well?
So-

Unfortunately, he was sectioned soon after.

Smoke on glass

A way was shut,
A glass was filled,
The red so pure,
Who knew would last,
A smoke so fine,
A vape so lit,
The wine that begged,
A glass how big,
So more it tastes,
The smoke it vapes,
The blow that pours,
A glass that holds,
The hand that seals,
The force ere shown,
New life be had.

Craft me a sea

Then sat down the moon yonder,
I’m looking away whilst he writes,
He’s looking at me whilst I sing,
I’m winning the hearts again;
My love is asking for my hand,
He’s asking for the way to write,
He’s loving a way through my ears,
I’m seeking a hand to guide me,
I’m looking away for the way here,
Take me from the moon to the stars,
The stars call me hither, hither;
Inhaling the stars there’s a sign,
There’s a pattern that reads:
Beauty is only the beginning in life; Read More

Hill spotting

I paint myself a picture leaping,
Sooner the brush strokes rushed,
They were crusted from disuse,
All was tired lest never they muse,
Suddenly I saw myself leaping,
The painting was walking with me,
I tipped the paint over to see,
I drew myself a world to see,
The skies: I painted them yellow,
The grass is blue, I’m red,
I’m also a person. I like that. Read More