Friday, 16 September 2011

The pretender

With everything to fear and nothing to gain,
Life’s a speck of his little game.

Running errands, here and there,
Mechanically in motion, no character nor flare.

Yes but is this all I hear you say?
Ah, now now, wait for May,
Where the summer breezes, and the pigeons squawk…
…Alas, where is that promised ultimate quark?

Indeed, she exposes her tulip, revealing itself
Is that a stark reminder of her hidden wealth?

Ah, but amidst that world so tender, so serene,
That ghastly God hides behind the scene.

His claws of bone and gnashing teeth.
His insults echo from the stones underneath,

He jokes around, letting the young grow up while the old grow down,
Either way he laughs: “the world continues to float while you all drown”.

That shimmer of truth he paints for us to cheer,
All the while we’re locked in his fortress of fear,
The fruit that bore my tender yarn on nigh,
Sits on his shoulder waiting to die.

You’re right, but even though the canary sing a summer day in bright,
That cat licks his lips in delight,
And with her river of time flowing to an end,
Out of a cocoon, a butterfly ascend,
Whoever can brake away from the madness, from his chain of sorrow,
No longer need despair in the wait for the morrow.

Ah! But tis a game he uses us as a piece
All the while sending us out under a short-term lease
So let the moon do our own hoping,
For, perhaps the time is now for us to do the joking.

O, the fruit of my skin fades and peels away
As time passes I have no more of a say.

But underneath his lying cloud is a truth overlooked,
That one day, on the eve of my time, my grave is booked.

© 2011 Roberto Nacci All Rights Reserved

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