Poetic Stories

So, what is it that you want?
Can you give your every drop of blood?
Or, suffice with tears?
Or, maybe sing a lullaby!
“T’was thousand years ago,
T’was in Neverland.
A tree well built slept as a log.
For a thousand more long.”

They said, “Move out of the way.
The men are on the chairs.
And you, my mate will be ‘wagyu’.”
Ah! ‘Them’. Who are they?
They move out of the croud, out of the battle.
They float like cream floats on milk
Or, a reed in Japenese Typhoon.

No, I am no rich kid’s fantasy.
Nor a poor peasant’s daydream.
I live, I… am not a floater.

I know that you are afraid, sceptical.
Of ‘truth’, of ‘battle’.
You think it isn’t the way.
Maybe that’s why I’m here.
You are the proof that it is the right way.