Rhyming Master

Poem By Patryk Krzywon

I met a Rhyming Master
Whose mind was faster
Than those of feeble earthlings,
That the earth brings
To life and sickness and death,
He drew a rhyme with each breath,
And he went on and on and on
Without stopping each rhyme was drawn
And spoken, without a missed beat,
He spoke of blitz and of heat
And of thunder and storms;
He spoke of death that took forms
Of sickness and battle and... and
Conspiracy! killing! The last grain of sand
Passing through the hour glass
Marking the hour of the mass,
And they drunk the blood, ate the flesh,
And they drunk the wine while still fresh,
Ate the bread, they forgot the point,
But not him... he never joined.
He went on, to share his rhyme:
Spoke of politics, spoke of time,
Spoke of death and spoke of life,
He spoke to men and their wives
And children, sometimes dogs,
Cats and wolves, parrots and frogs;
They called him crazy – speaking to pets,
But he knew exactly where the sun sets,
And went on...
And on..
And...
On...

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