So I got tired of writing expository rants. A cynical poem will do for now -- I really need to study.
The Gospel of Alps
On the clean-cut blades of grass,
Enticing tunes of a flute.
A shepherd gathers the goats.
Sugar coated cross on the rooftop,
Cotton candiology at the pulpit.
The goats talk amongst themselves;
'Hurry; these Disneyfied halls sure do fill up quick.'
Free breads plunge into the bottomless pit.
The lyres repeat themselves in vain,
and the Truth is shrouded in the baptistry.
No matter how mistaken the shepherd may be, the true Shepherd always takes care of his sheep and knows them each by name...
ReplyDeleteAs much as the subject matter was sad, it was a well-written poem...now write about something happy. :)
Naaa Naaa Naaa Naaaflack
ReplyDelete