 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| #1: Swop The doctor grinned as I wobbled astound, A diagnosis apparent as I fell to the ground. “Your proportions are wrong as you struggle to stand, Even both feet combined is still less than one hand. So you're quite an act!" he went on to say, I knew this appointment would turn dismay. When his nose throbbed red, then lips did too, And by his stethoscope dead gerbera grew. Suddenly I did yelp a chilling cry, The flower’s squirt invaded my eye. I started to tire, which was hardly divine, Everything then begun to redefine. 'Had to watch the night being born as I woke, Due to hands and feet being tied with rope. Lucid nightmare as I noticed that clown, Skulking, speaking, peering down. "Ha! The only cure is to dance around!" "But how when I am currently bound?" Giggle he did as the curtains raised, In the stadium an audience praised. So here I danced the rest of my days, Always hoping it would change my ways. Gigantic as this arena I've been trapped inside, Was my exhaustion before I died. I became translucent, but still performed, Before I noticed something transformed. My roles of hands were now of feet, Next to me, a lifeless body still incomplete. Some lights got bright and I drifted away, The clown did cry, shouting "Stay!" But did he intend me to go? Now I'm gone I'll never know. 3rd June 2007 Updated: 5th September |
 |
 |