Sunday, 21 April 2013

Broken Glass



You break my thoughts like a train
Careering into my mind
Every time I try to speak
I’m always criticised
There is no thought in your actions
There is no time in your words
I don’t like what you call art
I think it’s quite absurd

But you take the task unto yourself
To press onto me your thoughts
Macabre oddities and clich├ęd banalities
And other misplaced assorts
Which I take and nod and laugh in the right places
And commend you here and there
But the fabric of your work has spaces
Of unthought open air

Am I content to live in your shadow?
Somehow, that is where you have kicked me
The trophy that you take into your sullied hands
Is the weapon with which you think you can kill me
Words are only words, though words can sometimes hurt…

But if you treat me like a rag doll, I’ll kill you!