Caricature of a truth.
I lay down my wheat and fire iron.
In smoky mirrors, I spread my tail feathers
Alongside the peacock.
When will time be fated to wrist restraints;
When will the Milky Way dance?
If we pick the leaves of the blueberry bush,
Should we ask how she feels of it?
I will dress her in new garb
Before the rooster crows,
If she so wishes.
Why must we play riddles with the unknown?
We poke fun at the things we should practice.
We don’t know the invisible barricade
Unless we paint it.
If we paint it.
Will we paint it?
And when eyes fall,
Of royal silk red,
And swords collide,
Will all be sought?
Have we learned already as people?
Have we forgotten?
Sharpened knife,
And quarterstaff.
The dermis artist before you,
Decorticating all who disobey.
All who fall astray,
Or choose a better tree to climb.
How do we not see?
How do we not see that we are blind?
And when will we learn?
When will we be taught?
Will we ever know,
Will we ever know of what is true and right?
Will we ever know,
The things that we should change,
The things that we should fight,
The things that don’t belong?
The rooster crows.
The rooster’s song is sad,
Because the rooster knows what’s wrong.