Out there hides mischief made,
Adorned in the smiles of tariffs
And trades
But in here, in these construed
And garnered walls
Slumbers the chief of miss timing
And improper confiding.
Untalented men take fruitless lies and
Place them brick by brick, until they
Stick, stick,
Stick. A miss timing at this point
Will mark the novice liars, and
Blemish their masked desires. Perhaps,
It’s best to leave this hapless labour
To the more well-tempered neighbour
So that they (like us) can weave
In the lies and lust
Of saying ‘I love you’ rather
Than naught. Perhaps,
This is the better choice, to lock
The voices inside, and silence
Those ever so distraught by our
Unconditional decisions and thoughts.
It is unanimous then, the neighbour
Shall take the job and you
(the inexperienced boy)
Shall vacate your dreams, and bow
Down to the universe like a
Daft begging dog. Perhaps,
Then (and only then) we ought to throw
The inexperienced boys asunder
So that they may learn
How to dance with the thunder.