Tears hijacked his dreams,
Fear overtook love.
In rotating ceiling fans
And rolling hips of dancers,
He searched for them both.
I sold myself to the wrong people,
The wrong people solicited my souls.
Amid a flurry of wrongs,
My heart set out to claim some rights.
The blue veins shone through her fair skin,
And the knife in her hand glistened.
The brightness of the red spilled
Was also never disputed.
Rheumatism, Arthritis, Blood pressure, Insomnia;
There was no ailment she was not proud of.
Dust, smoke, CO2, NO and a little oxygen.
The human is contented.
There's nothing to cry for in grief -
Too common, Too plebian, Too low.
There's nothing to laugh in glee -
Too fickle, Too smug, Too depraved.
The saint sought them all in saffron,