Quietly Dreaming


A story’s brewing; it’s felt in my heart.
Yet I’ve to find the end, middle or start.
I think it’s close but it could be far.
The damage done and left a scar.
~
The image is blurry and makes no sense.
I’m hangin’ out with a guy named Pence.
We’re trapped in a cell with fancy drapes.
There are no cigarettes but everyone vapes.
~
Our lofty guard is seven feet tall.
He brings us bread and that is all.
P’s is white and mine is wheat.
But we don’t mind, it’s something to eat.
~
P tells stories of his glorious time.
I write fast and make it all rhyme.
He worked for a king, second in charge.
His duties were light but his paycheck large.
~
The lights go out at ten o’clock.
The guards go home and we all rock.
Music starts jammin’ in a cell nearby.
The place gets smoky and we all get high.
~
Our eyes grow heavy then we all dream.
We awake at sunrise to coffee with cream.
The king too presides in a cell downstairs.
It’s dark and damp but no one cares.
~
The king has a wife he no longer sees.
She crawled off to Russia on her hands and knees.
Though his kids live here, their just down the hall.
They all got snatched while attending a ball.
~
Now tuxedo’s in tatters and gown’s a mess,
the truth was clear, no need to confess.
So maybe this story’s no story at all.
It may be a nightmare, I can’t recall.
~
Though being in jail I wasn’t keen.
But comfort is felt when the future’s seen.
I did get released, no word of the rest.
And all ends well, their silence being best.
~
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