As she sits upon a throne she sees all that is.
Nothing else is here, nothing else exists.
Life is only what meets the eye, past it an abyss.

The crown on her head, too heavy to hold.
Her neck slowly grows bent, as she gets old.
Eyes now sad, like a cow marching to the block.

Little does she know, she's only a child.
Nothing more than a dreamer at home.
Sleeping peacefully, surrounded by pink walls.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

Living as a young man's ghost
Forgetting that, which mattered most.

Haunting steps, where once were bold,
To ponder when I became so old.

lamplight through the leaves
leave and let me love
let me be and live my life
to die, doggishly

puddles gathered
muddled and battered
dry in the heat of the day
rather to go on
than hang on
to life lived

for shame to those
who cling
for going, is such a kind thing

You're on watch, you cannot sleep.
Torpor looms as fingers twitch,
Stay up, stay alert
Now is your time.
You mustn't give in to fatigue.

Sterility encapsulates the ironically termed 'living' room,
With beeps and hisses battling for supremacy
In a growingly discordant manner.

Until the living interferes
And proclaims 'No more'.
No more shall rhythmic tunes stake their claim,
No more shall the room of white become stained
With the pain of a world unknown.
No more shall men of Earth be lulled by your faux swan song.

Though, sounds of 'life' carry on.
"You're on watch, you must now sleep"
Purrs a cloaked figure.

I step out into the streets,
Ready to mimic the actions of those I’ve learnt from.

I do not understand the gleeful tones and beats
So I adapt another one’s joyful flow.

But I wonder how far this fake peace
Stretches across the land of our one and all.

Am I mimicking the mask of another mime?
I worry for the number who are stuck in a rhyme...