I guess I’m mad because there’s not enough time for me to watch your grandchildren’s grandchildren grow old.
I know that’s nature.It’s not wrong.
I guess I’m mad, but I’m strong. You don’t have any time at all and here we are twenty-six years on.
A father, a friend, a lover, a son. Figuratively speaking what have you done?
You have no time. The sun’s not shone.
I guess I’m mad time’s not like cake. I can’t make more.
My slices you can’t take.
It’s probably for the best. I can’t bake.
I guess I’m mad, each year it’s still too late for me to save you.
Too late to fight the good fight make the wrong things right to say “Look mum here’s my daughter, hold her tight”
It’s too late, and the world’s still not right.
We still squabble about power and fame.
Monopoly games the E.U and bullshit time frames.
We imprison dog dads and comics for saying “Fags” and good dad’s who lose their kids to matter of fact lies from drunk b*tches with sperm eyes and each time we don’t kill a pedophile or inprison a killer a part of me hides, dies and lays dormant at the bottom of a dark ocean of doom to spark torment.
I guess I’m mad because like these comics I talk sh*t to to get a reaction sometimes. Choose words that aren’t wise and believe free speech should smack you between the eyes and have poetical justice.
The choice to blur the rules, change Haiku’s to two four two’s and do things others dare not do.
With words fool, then there’s you. Raping and killing, abusing the woman. The thrill you still walk the line of your doing no time and they wonder why I’m anti establishment they’re half of the crime.
I’m mad you won’t be read.
Mad you’re in the land of the free.
Give me three minutes.
Come take a walk with me.
© G.P Williamson 2018