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“Stitched In A Daydream Of Nonsense†- Butterflies crying diamonds While Bone-Woman flashes her Mona Lisa smile There’s ghost on every rapture overturning, The avenues of tombstones Parallel to Cinder’s glass slipper . . . - “Why did she leave her shoe behind?†Twisted murmurs shuffling in ears “Because she tripped over her guilt!†Chuckles the Mad Hatter sipping Poetry tea - “NO!, Time was running out, you insolent tea drinker!†Screams White Rabbit. Blood drips from Snow’s lips As she slowly cracks her knuckles “Too many apples on the ground . . . “ Her voice sounding like flower petals, Whispering against the wind - There was a storm arising Wolves growling Epitaxy nails tap tapping Madness bloomed inside a teacup rose “This world is nothing but a broken crystal ball.†Muttered the Witch - Silence was dipped in butter and eaten hastily Fairyland is nothing more than a Fairy tale ghost town “Just like reality; most times.†Chesire Cat grumbled - Inside this Garden of Hearts Words are shuffled like a deck of cards Epitaph thoughts sometimes are smashed and forgotten “Help! We all are dead lost souls; all is not well†Wails the town crier His ghost swirling through the emerald trees - Alice clicks her teeth “Never follow the rabbit down a hole; It’s like a gamble, You never know if it’s going to be a paradise Or absolute chaos†- The sky is dancing with the c louds The moon is singing Its nighttime and Insanity Wants to come out and play But why should it? - Counting scars Which the razor created Have we learned our lesson? That we should love the body Which was kindly given to us? In order for our souls to set Comfortably in a beautiful shell - Though conversation Is quite twisted in the garden There’s meaning in each Can you riddle it With a fiddle and not be fickle? - Sometimes its good to be mad Other times a laugh is rather nice Its pretty neat looking at the flowers here Pulsing with the heartbeat of each corpse Can’t you hear and see it or is it just me? - “There’s nothing to see here. OFF With Your Head!†Shouts the Queen of Hearts As she folds herself The garden and The fairy tale ghosts Ripping my poem into dust And evaporating inside my pen - . . . never mind Imagination can only be seen By the one who imagines it~ |
no mistakes| Posted on 2015-04-15 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ] | I totally disagree with your conclusion. Imaginations immaturity if adequately described can be fundamentally pervasive elementally. Though prophylaxes protocols would seem to contraindicate we are allowed to love each other. Your fantasia fantastications are felicity incarnate. I can't hardly wait to read some more. | Bruce | Posted on 2015-03-11 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ] | |