Take Off That Robe

I shall come to your house and strangle you.
Really, you've given me no other choice.
I had hoped to be part of an honest
Profession, propelled myself (with some
Exertion) past the reefs of teenage
Angst, the "would-I," "shouldn't-I,"
"Oh, woe is me," the green, annoying
Proclamations of the meanings of such
Little lives, and over sturdy fences,
Barbed and wired, guarded by the
Ones demanding poems rhyme, and,
Free at last, I hurried here to be
Among exalted others, all those
Wizards I had heard of, who made
Magic out of words, and left spellbound
Applauding mobs. I soon learned
That all are gone. The wizards died,
And, in their places, frauds of your
Sort soon appeared, who couldn't
Understand the spells and thought,
Instead, that letting words leak out
Of nearly empty heads would pass
For magic. Well, it doesn't, friend.
The mobs saw that, and they've
Departed. I, inside this empty
Playhouse, having practiced, with
My wand, discover that you've
Made me useless. I am coming.
You'll be strangled soon.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 27 times
Written on 2012-04-08 at 13:54

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