A man sat on a rock wall surmising the day’s dissipation,
The sun sizzles when it sets and so he waits in anticipation,
That morning he sung an aubade to the sun’s expected rise,
Now he watched it go down waiting for its smouldering demise,
Pink billowing clouds drank a shiraz of fleeting light,
Like a drunk who got in a fight then wept sorrow all that night,
The foray of firmament had also fought a gallant war to stay,
But nights battle against the raid had held the suns rays at bay.
Revelation came as the man sat upon that water bashed wall,
Concepts and dreams hypothesised were not his thoughts at all,
Ideas are spore that float looking for somewhere else to seed,
Hibernate in the mind until the mental mantle sod are freed,
With this the sky fades and loses more shiraz in its shine,
While this wise man gulps another bottle of merlot wine,
Closes his mind and wades into his hollow plot of his soul,
Dulling his musings and letting the wine fully take control.
So thoughts escape him like they were poorly held balloons,
Elegantly they rise until their beauty is hidden by the moons,
Multi-coloured made of silk and quiet as a mime or thief,
Filled with the hope for love, but more were of lust and grief,
Caught in air currents mutable pulled taut as not to contort,
Looking for the night to bare witness to the battle fought,
Frantic like sperm in search of a womb and ovaries to nestle,
Yet tantric as they consume the husk in which they lay rest in vestal.
Small zeppelins in search to find the chaste angel who alludes,
But these balloons chase tails in tormented tangled moods,
For this wise man was to obsessed with mental mangled nudes,
While birds and the bees seek the trees for their sexual interludes,
Past an angel’s laughter they climb to fuck and perspire,
Oblivious to the mess of the heart they ignore as they soar higher,
Past a subtle look complete with utter love,
Not subtle so they miss the beauty as that lust soars above.
They miss the look in her heart, her eyes and her supple lips,
All for the taste of sweet nectar between another women’s hips,
The last thing he remembered was her vanilla fragrance,
And that she had sadly left him because of his blatant flagrance,
Contemplation hurts when you know… suddenly a balloon bursts,
Thoughts of perfection gone because he had put his erection first,
The wise man watches the last balloon disappear with a gust,
Alone he swoons with red wine in his veins cursing at his lust.
