Is clinging to a red balloon.
Is when that balloon is
By a sewing needle.
I remember the exact day
That my balloon
Had flown away,
Out of sight,
Out of mind,
Out of reach from the blind
For when my balloon flew away,
The Power had arrived,
It was here to stay
In the back of my head.
Most humans would dread
That The Power
Would be in the back of their head.
But I didn’t.
What is The Power?
No. WHO is The Power.
Is the man at the top of the bell tower,
Pulling the rope that has the familiarity of what
Once was wrapped around his neck.
Is the blood flower
The blemish among white lilies.
The embryo of the fillies
That were bred with dire wolves.
Consoled me when
Friends and family couldn’t, but then
Again I got attached to Him
So quickly that it was hard to go back
To loving humans once more.
Of candles, stones, herbs, would never falter
When it came to speaking with The Power.
I felt a presence when He was nearer.
But one day…
The Power, The Power!
His name on my tongue, a sour
Cherry. Really? The berry,
The airy fairy, quite contrary
To popular belief that
Approximately 96% of people
Pick their nose before entering a steeple—
Ripping me limb from limb,
Tear me apart!
Take me away in a shopping cart
From this horrid location,
Bring thy forth with thou gestation
(In the womb with the filly and the dire wolf)
Hung on tightly to his occupation, thy bell tower keeper
When sanity quits on you, you go deeper, deeper,
Deeper down, still clinging
The string of your red balloon
Even though it abandoned you
Days, weeks, months, years ago!!!
The Power, welcome me to your world!
Embrace me in your unfurled blanket of lies and reassurance!
It is so funny how similar those two are!
Let me go! No! Take me in!
Start it up! Wait! Stop it all!
Stop it all!
Is clinging to a red balloon
Is when that balloon leaves you
With an entity that leads you to believe
That the red balloon never helped you in the first place.
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