My Rendition of Reality: It’s a play
“An artist who renders his painting does it so for praise
A musician who renders another’s work does it for tribute
But when God rendered us. he rendered us as a punishment”
A heart beating behind a padlocked cage namely ribbed & boned
Skills owed to a being never known, honed his life as he homed
Dark & desolate stark realities create pessimists, preaching alone
Cold men deviate the foam of pleasure, their heart turned to stone
Phone God on 333 but why not phone his double on 666, queue cut
Tricks subdued the paper-mâché again glued, a stripped clay hut
Housing artilleries of tricks and taunts that hurt the frail boys bones
Over dated moans dormant in crusty shells passing in Hades domes
Bursting bubbles & shooting storks with embryos dead and loaned
Given as presents once sealed by Mr. Deaths bargain boot car deals
Haphazard and hapless a happy man given least success he owned
His word & dreams; auctioned & thrown at the bidding devils heels
“Life is precious, have you not heard of the Sanctity of life”- A higher being
“I bid 20 cents” – The American President
“I bid 20 pence”- The devil
Lost in translation, sly devil slyly bought a body from a broke being
Omnipotent & All-seeing, the Lords sits & watches the play screening
Demeaning dolls put on displays for window shoppers to drool over
Blind man watching obscene material reading the bible, plus a clover
He puffs out from a weed sprout sold to him by a local dealer from hell
Straw tube filled with leafs & soot only believable by the sense of smell
A boxed world in which many wonders live only to be shut back down
A crying clown & a dying deity, a play see & he’s just the stage hound
Never the lead role, so he made us the paper where his ideas ground
…..….We act he watches, we fail & the reaper puts on his night gown
New Production: Freedom of Terror