From a sleep as still as amber
strike to stop the buzzing clamber;
rise and stumble through the chamber;
wed my garments to the hamper.
Now at the sink my face baptize:
Another pimple analyze.
Some eggs are amatuerly fried --
It's been a while since I tried.
God bless the bean, the substitute
of motive soul, the human root
of moral deeds, the cursed fruit
of mortal man, the reasoned brute.
Though silent greys make me depressed
in every suit when I am dressed,
my soul at least is free compressed
to wander meadows unaddressed.
But once I settle down to work
I must forget my sacred quirk
And dedicate myself to work
Until I finish with my work.
-
Author:
Andrew Russell (
Offline) - Published: June 20th, 2022 11:51
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
Nice poem dear poet! Love the structure!
'God bless the bean, the substitute
of motive soul, the human root
of moral deeds, the cursed fruit
of mortal man, the reasoned brute.'
Pythagoras is dancing
like those Mexican beans
wherever he be resting,
lol
(a unique write, so much
to unpack
a write worth re-reading
and contemplating
thanks for sharing)
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