A Reprimand on a Rainy Day

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It's an illusion,
This life, this love, this conundrum
Over what's enough.
Nothing's ever enough.
Ever tried catching the rain in your hands?
Felt that ridiculous romanticism,
Where you metaphored over 
Diamonds and dew? Over freedom and a song?
Colour of a rainbow your soul?

I call bullshit to your poetry,
Your prose, your constant 
Alchemising meanings out of nothingness.
This rotten gutter that stinks of your
Air of vanity; the buried leaves carrying
The wayward son into the muddy ground.

Smack that hand into your head,
And wake up, you bastard of the squally winds,
You godforsaken ashen scaly fish liar
Who spins fairy tales out of sordid pithies!
Suck it up, your disgraceful tears of empathy,
And snort that unicorn valour out of your nose.

A word is a word is a word.
Not gold spun out of straw by 
Names you can't pronounce.

Not roses smelling sweet,
Eulogised by dead poets,
Who say one thing and mean another.
The sound and the fury,
In the life of a modern idiot.


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