Am not just saying
But sharing .

I share a reason
With one
And many
A similarity
With those whom
Understand / understood.

Patience has a measuring
That can get you drunk
Within this cup,
Thus mugged along the rims
Of the stars you see now
In a parallel world
not much a far.

That the silence
Whistles a song
To the wind,
In a room
Barren of life.

Another round
Waiter, waiter
A-weight  my order.

Am getting tipsy
As a song plays back
My I-tunes
I don’t play around with numbers
As nine, eight, seven
Fear ran along
The murderous number line
Revenge was 7 (seven) letters exact.

As My measuring cup
Was to full too
Rely on a detective ,
As human rights laughed away a pun
The digits playing with us now
As the digits kicked up cost of death to the human race.

Am still in a pickle
About the one
After one short year
I fell ill/short of perfection,
So I thank a sin
For as  culture needed a place
In the universe to settle
For the decade.

Waiter,
A-weight  the
Burden of the cups
Full of tips,
Yet mine tips
On the edge of the margin

To the likes
Of inspiration,
They too have lived
On the top of the
Edge balancing a-weight.

©Hansmind, 2015