He who flinches, loses trying
Yearns the greatest, hardest failing
Tries the longest, perish drowning
In fetid shade of breathless tide
No good deed’s beyond suspicion
Miracles called insurrection
(Pseudonym and rationalization)
Mercy makes an open heart and
a pinkly naked, bare backside
I got you a baby elephant
It’s not a practical thing
But some things are bigger priorities
And I might die if you don’t smile
Good coffee and chocolate
Hasn’t helped you sleep at night
Talking does as much good as poetry
So please, while I’m at work
Fill the bathtub with water
Feed him whatever baby elephants eat
He might be lonely too
It’s not easy to sooth something
So big, so clumsy, and so helpless
It’s not fair to ask you
When you’re bleeding into black handkerchiefs
Bumping into ghosts in the dark
But I bet he’s good at sitting quietly
I bet he’s a good listener, even to silence
You could pat him and listen to it too
It’s not a practical idea
It’s just hard to be so big, so clumsy
So helpless all at the same time
SensibleUnsensible