Moods

Alone - a loss -
A brief confusion--
And in the end
He took the time
To -- wait -- who?

The man behind the curtain--
The one who keeps you guessing--
The one with self disaster
Written on his eyes.
There's a man with
Catastrophic self destructive madness
Hidden in the being on the lawn--

It's catching you know
It's not what they say it is--

It's some kind of fervent flu -
A virus with a potent punch
And a plague to follow through...

He stands there on the lawn
Seemingly not blinking
Or not seeing
what he's done -
He waters all the plants
He does a lifeless dance
He frolics with the ants
And he waits for the final curtain call
But to no avail
For the stale stately smile
That washed up on his face
Is sterile as the sand upon the shore
And poisonous and bland
As a thousand tiny ants
As they dance a wicked dance
Or maybe more...

©Copyright 2007 Jason J. Loya