poetry

Sense And Sensibility

The breeze is calm
and it is pleasant,
but I’m feral
and in the way.

Peaceful perfection
painted upon
picturesque play
performed before
a bunch of boars
behaving as
boisterous babes.

The finer things
come at a cost
a grand expense
beyond my reach
predestined by
a fate so cruel
it caused me to
plead like beggars.

Thus, to the breeze
I say tartly,
‘Don’t cross my gate
when you go ’bout!’

Daily prompt Gate

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s