Micro-Poetry #26



Tame like the soul of a baby,

The sky holds its own above me –

Portraying blissfulness,


Untarnished beauty;

As I stare up to it

And become entranced by its presence.



The ringmaster cracks his whip,

The captain salutes the sky,

The king holds up a fist,

The knight his almighty sword,

The president takes a bow,

The queen a wave of her hand.

Though I sit back,

Tilt my head and ask myself:

When will this madness end?

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