The Nine O'Clock Muse

Greetings Internets. I am posting this poetry entry a bit later than perhaps is normal tonight since I had family things to deal with earlier in the day. So I guess we best be on with it, without any elephants hopefully about. Keeping it short on account of it starting to get on in hours.

I'm terribly sorry in advance about the lack of sense this poem is probably going to make to you.

“The Beauty of It”

A little black robot sat on a shelf

hiding behind a cat

yet the cat, he well, liked to live behind the kangaroo

not the kangaroo on the bookshelf mind, but one akin the same

the way we see

the way we be

how they act and turn in twine

based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

the green dinosaur is bold,

the yellow one perhaps less so

but better than the sheep,

hiding in a hollow

the way we see

the way we be

how they act and turn in twine

based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

a battery is charming

a mint can holds forbidden sands

while the mints sit sitting in a baseball's hand

leaving the yellow fabric of it all alone

the way we see

the way we be

how they act and turn in twine

based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

a box of shells smiles on its mount

above a trio of jewel cases

yet still a bit timid in it's pride

letting the screws and brick shine

the way we see

the way we be

how they act and turn in twine

based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time

A pagoda in the distance, beyond the reach of time

built and yet flimsy,

protected by a weaken dragon

holding a banner of fortune paper

The way we see.

The way we be.

How they act and turn in twine.

Based on our perceptions, changing drastically all the time.