Deities dwelling in a dell
in sequences of silken dance.
And it’s by footsteps that they count
the number of days we’ve lived out.
Echoed ringing of their bells
as the ticking remains intact.
Readers aloud in show and tell,
darting sticks, throwing stones to Hell.
This dull eloquence of lies,
blunt disarray of dead eyes
which cross when they meet our lives.
Draw anger from their own denial.
Every single one of you gods, you
with your clocks which speed past our lives
if this din ever reigns true
then the shitty ruler is you.
For I never asked for a chance,
much less a second glance.
But I’m paying for it now,
you’ve got your elves to show me how.
Oh, how it pains me to say
that your love’s been a dismay.
I wrote you letters at ten,
yet you remained hidden, again.