THE BEGGAR’S DREAM
Intro: up to 50 words (delete this text and enter your own)
THE BEGGAR’S DREAM
Those three bitches of destiny,
Those stitching sluts make it hard to endure.
And because of their dark and nimble senility
It just gets worse, year after year.
Though I curse them with a sailorly
even a clerical vigor
Better I cry at the amnesiac sky.
If I live to be a hundred
This truth I have learned.
But cursing, damn it, warms the blood.
Warms it like every ingenuous sinner knows
Like even furious love cannot.
Profanely sworn, vehemently shouted vows
May incite a timorous heart
Bound in its crumbling ditch
To burst that last damned, unendurable stitch.
If I live to be a hundred
This truth I have learned.
Drunk, I dreamed. Loutishly weaving,
Ball-fisted I went, grinning and grimed,
Carried beyond those whore’s conceiving
To the place where all mummies unwind.
I sang where all stitches unravel!
I danced in abandon unbound!
Laughing, I swore and I swore and I swore
Just for the joy of the sound!
If I live to be a hundred
This truth I have learned.
you also seem to have an at least suspicious disposition towards the Fates.
i understand what you’re saying here. not even Zeus can ignore them without paying the price somehow.
they are weaving for the wheel of time/destiny but whose instructions how to weave are they following. that is the question.
good poem .
Thank you. I appreciate your comments.