He used my dreams to send away,
He drank my moisture daily,
The references to toys and play
Pulled down my heart so greyley.
For meta was my mind and I
Gave of it to him freely,
But he has minced it in a pie
And baked my guts quite steely.
Impatient on her gurney she
Heard doctors saying truss her,
She watched her limbs make meta-flee
And heard the brains discuss her.
They took their knives and cut her flesh
Whilst talking of Bob Dylan,
And scarcely noticed she was fresh
With salty water fillin'.
When they had done they stitched a thong
And rubbed their hands, they'd finished!
The organ excised was quite wrong,
Her blood was now diminished.
Get up, get up! The Doctors cheer,
You see it's just delusion!
So etherized she tries to hear
If they intend transfusion.
The blood they shoot back in is red;
It sounds like her own rhyming;
But she no longer knows her head,
Unsynchronized her timing.
If she could have her limbs again
She'd give them to him freely;
Just hide the meta thoughts and then
She'd keep her heart quite steely.
2005
Wow, what a bouncy poem! But I'd say it's those treating Meta-manic lady that really need the treating! ! lol. Warm regards, Gina.
I get the feeling that if she gets the use of her limbs back, she will apply the boot somewhere! ! ! Scarlett
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Maybe the boot will be my next poem.... a breakthrough from this poetic impasse! Thanks so much, Gina for your vigo(u) r! Love L