Dreaming Reality

There was a crooked man

who walked a crooked mile

to wag a crooked finger

at the moon’s crooked smile.

“Don’t laugh at me,”

he warned,

dejected and forlorn,

feeling quite abused,

angry and confused.

“So you’ve come to

me at last,

like a ghost from

out the past.

Is it recompense you seek,

if so why don’t you speak?”

(her crooked smile did not waver)

The crooked little man

took a crooked step

along the crooked walk,

he took a ragged breath

and then began to talk.

“You made me what I am,

you wicked, lusty dame.

Wandering this lonely path

until my legs are lame.

For what you promised,

yes you know

beneath that sultry

silver glow,

that love was true and

free for taking.

Thus I have spent a lifetime

making

love, and hope

and wicked ties

only to find it

all was lies.

I believed but