You Stumpless Orphan

How can you dance, you stumpless orphan?
The organ grinds out a slow, sad dirge.
With a monkey on your back and a branch,
A fleeting moment of thought, or perhaps
Some fleas on your thigh, think, boy, think.

Was it the word I said, or the bed I made?
And you dance gleefully like a besotted fool.
With vagueness and solitude you leave,
A backward glance of mourning for me,
Of perhaps the way things could be.

How can you dance, with no legs or feet,
Stumpless you are, flailing about.
It was a time that might have been
In a place long before now.
Too late, the organ grinds to a halt.

Text created by Susan Isabella Sheehan
“Art Is The Perception Of An Altered Reality©”
Copyright 2008 Surreal Digital Artist™

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You Stumpless Orphan

Susan Isabella  Sheehan

SANTA CLARA, United States

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

Thoughts in my streams of consciousness.

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