Storms
Life builds and grows the storms of soul
over here in this dip of design lethargy
where the creators create unmindfully
the ebb and flow of everyone’s dreams.
It’s like the saviours no one ever sees
swop hats with the sinfully wicked
and implant a deep and dark deadly pall
over what we’re meant to see.
Lo and behold we come upon times
when the vision is cleared of uncertainty
and we spy somewhere a symbol of love
in what must be to make us believe.
But the fishermen fish way out, way out,
and I breathe the air of my own make-believe
here where the numbers exceed capacity
laid out in the safety procedures.
So the dreams rise and fall, I tire of it all,
for a storm is a storm and a pall is a pall
whether viewed through a smile or a tear
and that symbol of love diminishes me
to an insignificant icon
on a screen of immense proportions.
But I guess I’m supposed to know
I’m just like a breakable china teapot
pouring toxic thoughts onto storms
and creating a pall over symbols and more
so I cannot see the deep inner side
of the blatantly sinful wicked!
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