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FABLES OF FANCY

March 18, 2018

And now, the rain,

Perverting the poet’s voice,

Barely alive, and I am not your mother.

 

And the snow perverts all envy,

I desire a kiss on the brow,

The same as yesterday, but no,

Of course.

 

I desire a hand in mine, a dear hand,

Not that of mother. She cares not for me,

In truth, we only speak realities.

 

Ah yes? You like this? And then?

I don’t know what to do with this,

Shall I react? No never, some say,

Another gained fame. Some, no.

 

Break lines up with full stops. Okay,

And if a certain poet lived, would he quote me?

No. My language is not his …. was not.

 

Past or present. Does legend live on?

Do we live on after death?

I haunt halls,

Where water falls from the sky.

 

Some worry. I whisper to myself,

I whisper that I don’t understand,

No one responds. I’m alone.

 

Subjective opinion always kills the murder,

Trial by a jury of his peers,

Who are told lies, make believe tales,

Don’t fall for their fables of fancy.

 

She told me to start the fire,

She who? The voice on the radio,

Ah. The voice of god. Yes.

 

Did others hear this same voice?

It’s unclear. I stand trial but I was ordered,

The holocaust came and went: mere orders,

But, no one buys what you write.

 

I smile, for I hear truths,

Given the eventuality of failure, I smile,

When do we deem ourselves failures?

 

Dear year young lady cares for my scripture,

I wonder as to her reasons,

She is less odd than I,

She is pretty some would say …. I say no.

 

I know what beautiful is,

I knew what beautiful was,

I don’t mistake the two.

 

He is a handsome man,

He was a handsome man,

So say Germans, East and West,

Hitler ….

 

I like such accusations,

Sometimes, my calligraphy breaks,

Letters don’t flow as I wish.

 

I send letters. No one understands,

She sent letters. She remains misunderstood,

Even moreso,

Only due to her suicide.

 

Suicide is not mysterious,

It is romantic,

Don’t lie, doctor.

 

Doctor as only friend,

Patient as hero to doctor,

Doctor believing in patient,

Patient doubting doctor’s belief.

 

Great belief, until promise came,

Five weeks until an end,

To prove you merit a future.

 

Privately they are schooled,

They know how to wear ties,

Bow ties. Big men. White gloves,

Top hats, black, atop heads of tall men.

 

Why are great men tall?

Why can’t I see trees through my window?

Prison issue window. I pray.

 

No escape from here, boy. Small room,

Padded cell, for the insane. Me,

But that’s subjective opinion, I cry,

Nobody listens.

 

Hospital ward for the infirm,

Hospital ward for the insane,

I’m one or the other – the freedom!

 

Why do we claim we’re lost?

When we’re without love, we’re in inertia,

But love is inertia – it changes, slowly,

And if I don’t feel love for life? I’ll be battered.

 

And you, who do you love at this moment?

For I prepare to end my current union,

I love she who is present. Ah yes. I recall well.

 

I take the voice of another, in the first person,

She was quite taken – love stories move her,

Love between two friends,

A sure folly – she knows well.

 

Immature young women, I like (first person),

They don’t grate on nerves – their sincerity

Is dear. I’ll hold her hand as I lose her heart. I know.

 

I know already – we’ll be always apart,

She longs for my life – I’d teach her,

There’s no need for her dreams of afar,

Apart. She misses her immaturity understood.

 

And an end. Nothing begun,

I knew my fate before our date,

What I long for came only too late.

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