The Sophist

2014-06-25 12:00 am

I swing about a bauble,
I scream about all belief,
And claim it to be fallible,
I run to where the light doth scramble,
To a place where all the truths are false,
And dreams are able, and soar about my bauble,
Radiant light of torch-lit dragon stables,
I sing in fable, and swing about my bauble,
All the dragons burnt alive by gas,
Spilled off tables knocked and set alight.
The old king has no ace to punish strike,
Now that dragons are not able to end life.
A workforce overthrows the king unable to know why,
A mutiny by accident with baubles as our knives.