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Sunday, April 17, 2011


(copied from my FB note)
This is my way of checking out Facebook's Notes feature.
What follows is a few words strung together in a non-random pattern.
If an event sounds like a story you told me, it probably is.
If I have abused your confidence, I apologise.
Amongst merciful friends, it is easier to beg for forgiveness than for permission.
Also, keep 'em expectations low; creative would be a stretch, I call it contrived writing.

They held a gun to my cheek,
A grown man lay prostate, sobbing for mercy,
And, care-free, I sat in my cradle.

They slapped a notice on our door,
At midnight, we hurried away from our home,
And, confused, I gathered my playthings.

They stopped us on the road,
A few crisp notes bought us our peace,
And, crestfallen, I unclenched my fist.

They raised a hue and cry far away,
A paranoia gripped the sheep in their stalls,
And, conforming, I cancelled my plans.

They surrounded us on their motorbikes,
A few knives glinted, some leered,
And, craven, I sank back and prayed.

What gods are these to justify these deeds?


Theoden said...

Written in October 2010.

Anonymous said...

I hope, it's OK