marți, 22 mai 2012

What I think it is

'Welcome to my labyrinth' he says,
While showing the baldness from under his hat.
'Your wish to reach the other end
Shall surely not be my concern.'

'Welcome to my ocean trench', he laughs,
While showing you the minuscule dictionary.
'The rage for not having enough words
Is what for you I propose.'

'Welcome to my high desert', he spits,
Trembling his upper lip.
'Your wish for actions not in vain
Shall be my most delightful gain.'

'Welcome to this boggy jungle', he'll shout
From up the tallest tree.
'Your suffering of caring and not being cared about
Will not meet she.

'Welcome to my Orwellian dream', he'll say
With spiders in your cell.
'You'll see how an incurable disease it is
But yet you'll curse for it not being so.'

'Bienvenue to my time lab', he'll show
While not quite so.
'You'll wish to throw the sand
But your mistakes will be long done.'

'Welcome to my circus', he'll trumpet
Til your ears will fade.
'You'll wish to explain and understand yourself
But it'll just be laughed at.'

The one that plans so future plans can again be,
The wish that your actions will not be in vain,
The 'what if'
This is what this natural gentleman will come about to be.

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