*This poem is not themed and not intended to. It’s in fact a complete waste of time – there wasn’t any time wasted really since the other option was to do nothing – and an insult to the spirits of poets. I pray you do not read it.*

Rage not like the less witty
Cry in the night and empty your tear bowls
Oft less and less I shall care
Till I pick the axe for peace
Fill out this butt hurt form

Stand not upon the shoulders of giants
Climbing down is a death trap venture
Leaping forward shall end your breath
So said the Lord to Moses
Before choking him to dust

Stare hard at the imaginary lines
That cross the sky and surround the earth
Mad men that curse the gods’ pains
Have drawn these to insult your birth
Shift the lines
Make them ragged

Walk along the train rail lines
Making sounds like happy dinosaurs
If you can’t then try some wines
Or just try matooke with Chinese sauce

You waste your time reading my thoughts
Which are just some sons of bits
You son of a bit!

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