|
|
|
Now I like to fly with strange wings,
And I like to be with a being who sings,
I wrote poems, as I think of plots and fantasies,
As though of I am in constant emergencies.
Now there is a cat,
That meows like a bat,
Who's horns turn into wings,
And eats your kings.
He has sharp claws,
That are not in his paws.
They're in its mouth.
Now a unicorn ran,
Across a rainbow fan,
Of a Goddess Cloom,
Who's questioning everyone's bloom.
And then the unicorn continued to run.
Now in the sensual meadow of dreams,
Made out of decaying nightmares seams,
Sprinkled dew caresses the silvering red unicorn,
Inviting it to breed with the representation of hate,
Not just to mate,
So a dream can't be born,
But a nightmare instead.
Now the unicorn ran,
Over a man,
Who was dead,
And covered in red,
Killed by the cat monster,
Who has no master,
What a disaster.
Then on the run,
The cat killed the silvering red unicorn,
Oh, how will he shun,
If he's dead,
And his blood is bled,
Oh it's okay, he will get reborn,
To the valley of forlorn,
So he can continue to shun,
While he does run,
On his day,
While the cat feasts on his body.
The End!
Didn't go fishing today...... How sad.
 Cloom · Sun Aug 01, 2010 @ 07:02am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
