This is the second excerpt of the poem I wrote whilst working in the village/countryside setting. Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/
Why did I have to grow up to become burdened with a life of minimum wage.
To be deceived by cassanovas and vixens.
To be sold into a life of rents, mortgages and bankruptcy.
To die of broken hearts.
Wouldn’t cancer have been a better deal or ordeal?
Why can’t I grow young?
To become burdened with gifts and food.
To be sold into a life of toys and overfeeding.
To be deceived by mum and dad.
To die of paediatric delinquency.
Wouldn’t a child-soldier’s death be more honourable?
And now I am even being deceived by some semblance of orderliness to my thoughts.
When my torch is failing.
I might as well set my house on fire tonight, so I can see clearly.
Is the life of a poet graceful? Does not the monkey display mastery of the arts?
What makes humans better?
I like monkey soup though. Little wonder I think and write like one.
At least I should have a fulfilling life in the pot. And brace myself for the fire that will try me.
God help me if the cook should doze off.
PS – The “monkey” used above is purely referring to the animal, and is in no way racist.
- The Mad Village Poet 1 (original) (ifeelshadows.wordpress.com)