the-goat-of-frank

I see nothing on the horizon, bar the shining of the dawn. A great blue star is rising, to spark an alien morn. The blood of yesterday's sadness runs clearly from my eyes. This is a dreary madness for what the species dies. I see nothing in the expanse, not a shadow  or a shine. Not the wizard and his rants, or his liquids into wine. Just a darkness meets my gaze, and it gazes stoically back. My belief was just a phase; My conviction starts to crack. I see right into the mind of all my mortal kin, And the views of all my kind are bundled up with sin. There is no evil there,  just the freedom of our will. It's ou

Knowing you you're laughing right now. So hard you can barely keep still. Talking silly and overusing the word 'wow!' At the memories on your window sill. All the good times and all the bad Sifting like a haze through your eyes. They all pass by as quick as a fad, And as much meaning as clouds in the skies. Each one is a doorway to the past, Each door with a story to tell. But the size of your collection is vast And the scale of recollection is hell. So you sit and you pick out your best, And the rest you store in a box. For when your life has run out of zest, They're the door which your sadness unlocks.

Seven foot tall and made out of glass, The Royal-Red Queen is exceedingly fast. But, should she trip on a branch, or misjudge a leap, She'll shatter herself and fall into a heap. The crown on her head is especially regal, While her head is attuned for everything legal. Her dress is a flowing and elegant thing, But tap her and she gives out an ethereal ring. She jumps mood to mood, from kindness to malice, As she proved to a walking bluebell named Alice. But it's okay to show a nice bit of sass When you're a Royal-Red Queen who's made out of glass.

Lucy dear is on the lake, On board this little raft. Views come and go for beauty's sake. East's lantern makes her laugh. And so it should, for to this girl, No beauty is more bold. Day starts to end for half the world, Bed-stories to be told. 'Elle est le monde', the water says, 'Love, it is the sun'. On loving Lucy, the water said 'Vraiment. Qui, vraiment'. Eleven stars blaze in the sky. Dark's lanterns start to flash In unison to the naked eye: Night-armies start to clash. Right there, under twilight fighting, Each star, it says her name. To them, her laughter is so exciting and Unreal, a sound like rain. Returning to

Wrapped in a ribbon of royal red cloth, The corpse of the Good King does lie. And, as the Shield Guard do carry him forth, One hundred sweet maidens do cry. As all the young men, and the Good King as well Did battle for a being up high. For robed men decree you shall burn in Hell If you do not sally and die.

Two souls collide                                         And become o-o-one.             How peaceful we lie, Under the Su-un. Under the Su-un. Under the Sun. Under the Su-un. Under the Sun. We lie as we watch The cloud-rabbits run. Our hands start to touch Under the Su-un. Under the Su-un. Under the Sun. Two become o-one, Under the Sun.

Curly-locked man I am, Four legs, four arms. I stare, stern, strong, Vigilance becalms. Within two prisons I reside, One circle and square. The other I find akin to skin, And as thin as air. Unclothed and proud I stand, Left foot is turned. I could roll if I could push; This I have not learned. Content to stand I am, And watch the man. De Architectura in hand, Thus the scribe began. Restless for freedom I am, The man cares not. He takes his goose down, 'Neath my foot he starts to jot. Imprisoned man, I am, In cube and sphere. How I envy the scribe His turn to disappear.

To train ones brain in the art of gain Is not always such a wonderful thing. Some men's gain is another man's pain, And I think that is so terrible a thing. That is the way of the world today, Rich crush those who get in the way. If they had gold coming out the door, The greedy rich would still want more. But let these rich take note and heed: Their insatiable lust for power and greed Won't save them when he's at the door. Old Father Time won't give them more.

Let's blur the line between reality. Let's lie down and forget. Let Jean-Luc fret over causality, I've to be worried yet. Asleep? But no! My senses twitch, I feel it in my bones. What my hand clasps is plump and rich, My ears, they catch the moans. Suddenly, porcelain smooth and cold I find 'neath fingertips. A purple haze creeps like a mold, Hot slush escapes my lips. There! A flash of silver and The popping noise of toast. With knife and mayonnaise in hand, A smear that looks like ghost! So surely, then, I do not sleep, But wander all about. The toast, the bowl, the fleshy heap! I cannot help but pout! I tell you true, I