My muse is a criminal.
A nasty dirty criminal,
Responsible for dead
Days and dying nights!
And he, knowing he’s
A criminal has flown
And is evading capture;
Some say he’s been raptured
But I know he isn’t dead,
Sometime he comes in head
And like a coward mumbles
Then flees to the bushes
But I’ll blast every mountain
Till all that’s left are planes
I want him alive or maimed
So I could keep him in chains
Where he’ll do my bidding.
I should, but wouldn’t kill him
He doesn’t deserve such mercy
I’ll make get down and dirty
To build me new roads
And plant new trees,
To water my flowers
And tickle my bees!
He best soon surrender,
Before I seek and find him.
The sooner the better…
For him…
Copyright © 2011 Leslie Alexis
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem