What the Hell?

 

Drinking deeply from many wells

in ghostly guises and hoary tales,

along the suspect and circumspect

jagged edges of a not so easy way,

(when all have had their say)

and what did it really mean,

or was it just a scary scene?


Revelations and tribulations wrapped

around with long and jet black hair,

of endless erotic dreams and schemes

that fall tumbling and bumbling,

(as we so merrily stumbling)

fall back and lean upon the one

of imagined themes and endless sun.


Grappling of grapes and fermentation

in twisted shades of devastation,

not considered in this world or

beyond the walls created by the fond

(and fairly bubbling streams)

of neurotic neurons escaping far

from this harrowing, narrowing star.


Dost thou know of what I speak?

Or should it simply fade as bade,

by some who deem and often seem

to confine and dine upon the rest

(of simply striving souls)

who drift away upon the wind

conceived by those who never sin.

copyright r.b.franklin 14/04/07

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