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Monday, 7 February 2011

Mr A

A bright spark,
sprites, lights,
enlights and enlists,
the twist of this missing kiss,
cursed to disperse,
disappear, the fool in king lear.
Adhere to a dear, dower worth an hour,
to the seer, laughs he, "ha, 'naw."
Peaks and troughs,
"unique?" he coughs,
whisked off on whiskey,
which he witched "Will enrich thee"
Slurred sir stirs and girds,
stares at girls,
"Not long 'till valentines day"
he's thick as clay,
happiness disregards dismay,
may this day,
purvey a misery,
for Mr A?
The smile,
it fades,
hope, as hair, quickening grey.
Yet ideals remain,
stupidity knows no shame.
If love is the game,
he has lust it.

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