Oct 2018
Life.
Hot applesauce.
Cold sausages,
Linked to hostages,
Another, then another.
Apostles cowering
As the ground beneath,
Collapses,
The maharajah's jeweled face,
Buried;
Switching between channels:
All blind, all empty.
Cold applesauce.
Rotten sausages,
20,000 Leagues
And no more
Hostages.
Hot applesauce.
Cold sausages,
Linked to hostages,
Another, then another.
Apostles cowering
As the ground beneath,
Collapses,
The maharajah's jeweled face,
Buried;
Switching between channels:
All blind, all empty.
Cold applesauce.
Rotten sausages,
20,000 Leagues
And no more
Hostages.
This is just a little poem about how sometimes life can be stranger than fiction...almost as if nothing fazes us anymore.
