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Therein A Bag Of Tricks Lies The Rub
by Philip F De Pinto
Love was in the middle of its so called Siesta.
Call it Meditation, call it what you will,
When out of the blue, a question was posed it
By a stranger who asked if it expected to live forever?
Sure, love said to the stranger. Why not?
Really, he said? Isn't that a bit naive
Or presumptuous of you to believe that you will?
No, not naive or presumptuous in the least.
I really do expect to live forever.
And why is that so hard for you to believe?
Had I answered with the typical no, would that have satisfied your query?
But I surprised you, didn't I?
And if I posed you the same question, would you say no?
Of course you would. Not that you think you're so cocksure you wont,
But because you lack imagination and love for what flows naturally in one's veins.
And by the bloody looks and lovely nape of you, it appears I am well on my way
To fulfilling such expectation. But wait!
What's that you got in your bag of tricks, Stranger?
A stake and stone you say!
Well, so much for expectations. And I suppose, it was overconfidence
If not naivete on my part as would catch me off guard.
And I suppose it was perfect confidence on your part,
That you should be so prepared to drive said stake
Through love's ever expectant heart.
03/17/2015 Author's Note: hey, Mr. Cocksure, if you scour carefully through a woman's purse, you will be surprised that the mascara and the hairpins and loose sticks of juicyfruit gum are nothing that she uses, to muse or nurse herself with, but are merely shielding devices, cloaking from sight, the greater truth, the stake as will shake and bake your foundations forever n ever. So clever of a purse to have room enough in it to conceal love's doom.
Posted on 03/17/2015
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
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