Tell me, why is Chip angry all the time
even if on his shoulder the old block
leaves fall not far off from the apple tree
let me explain, man to man, such a crime
makes apologies no longer worthwhile
even if "I'm sorry,," sounds like a crock
windows to the world outside, eyes that flee
horror after horror, inflicted Kurtz
yesterday, today, and tomorrow, smile
inflicted wrath hath no woman to scorn
scratch out his eyes, puncture his ears, nose cut
Chip cannot reveal his pain, was he born
honorably discharged from the womb, shut
inside a museum shows why he hurts
pleasure for others, a childhood misspent
as they call him, "a gentleman," what lies
no doubt, they see just what they want to see
grains of sand fall through the hourglass, his bent
rages against luminescence, the right
yes or no, to bear witness, unsound, flies
against all reason, live as happily
lest the wind blows the scent of incense out
left alone, damaged beyond hope, despite
turns of events, out of his control, shapes
hover in the darkness, Chip whistles tunes
every so often to not be scared, drapes
toss the breeze aside, see the ancient runes
if touch, touch fire, knowledge hidden in doubt
make it better, no one can, no one cares
every time anger grows, anger then shares
No comments:
Post a Comment