Now
I will write a poem
that makes no sense
and you can display
your superiority.
It will involve things that spin
and a man with his hands
covered in wet
red
clay.
The man is in the market square
cobbled stones and jewels
surround him.
He cannot reach out to the cacophony
of the bustling, pale faces.
He wants to paint them
red with awe.
He gulps the brittle air and breathes
myth into life
and they catch his words with
steel nets.
Spinning light spills into the square
aggressively removing the dark parts
But not too
aggressively
only enough
to send the message
the man
had intended.
Cilla, I promise to try and make you think next time!
I told you this one
mad no sense!
I will write a poem
that makes no sense
and you can display
your superiority.
It will involve things that spin
and a man with his hands
covered in wet
red
clay.
The man is in the market square
cobbled stones and jewels
surround him.
He cannot reach out to the cacophony
of the bustling, pale faces.
He wants to paint them
red with awe.
He gulps the brittle air and breathes
myth into life
and they catch his words with
steel nets.
Spinning light spills into the square
aggressively removing the dark parts
But not too
aggressively
only enough
to send the message
the man
had intended.
Cilla, I promise to try and make you think next time!
I told you this one
mad no sense!