Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker - The

Thu, 04/21/2016 - 19:55 -- Myther

The butcher,

The baker,

The candle-stick maker,

The holy 3 of bed-time rhyme

Have come back to me.

The butcher,

The baker,

The candle-stick maker,

Rub-a-dub

The butcher,

He came back to me

As I lay in the sand.

The baker as I ran from a man,

And the candle-stick maker…

As I lay before my sin.

The butcher,

The baker,

The candle-stick maker,

The holy 3 of bed-time rhyme

They came back for me.

The butcher,

With my vomit mixed in the sand-

The baker with the child who lost his hands-

The candle-stick maker with so many demands.

The butcher,

The baker,

and the fucking candle-stick maker-

The holy 3 of the bed-time rhyme.

As I fold my covers,

I bow my head.

It is time to sleep-

And I have the butcher,

The baker,

And the candle-stick maker,

To thank for me.

Lessons taught by all 3:

The butcher has taught me

That there are no threads to sow what is sundered.

The baker,

That yeast rises only one time.

The candle-stick maker,

The most useful of all,

That wax may burn more than once.

The butcher,

The baker,

The candle-stick maker,

What would they think of me?

I’ve tried all 3.

The entire bed-time rhyme,

Wrapped in my little head.

The shaky hands,

The steady feet,

Blood doesn’t go back in.

Food only goes so far.

And light is not always the goal.

The butcher,

The baker,

The candle-stick maker,

Not the most original

-Not the best,

Of those bed-time rhymes.

I’ve been all 3,

Those holy 3,

That come so easily to mind

-the butcher, the baker, the candle-stick maker.

Meant to be 3,

Not 1,

3 to 1 goes not so well.

Take my advice.

I’m a butcher.

The screams won’t leave

I’m a baker.

Handless arms cannot grasp bread!

I’m a candle-stick maker.

…wax isn’t like fire, it leaves more than ash behind…

You can’t be all 3-

Without losing your mind.

 

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