Busy
And while they are busy growing up, they will close the book in which I am found And I will be a film of dust and cobwebs on yellowing paper

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Busy
And while they are busy growing up, they will close the book in which I am found And I will be a film of dust and cobwebs on yellowing paper
I wish I were a magic fish
I wish I were a magic fish The kind, when freed, can grant a wish I'd shimmer golden in the light And not put up much of a fight My gift would bring me joy to share— Completely whelm the pain I'd bear
A Little Dancing Bee Cont'd
"Yoo-hoo," I heard a sound From somewhere just below Surprised, I looked around But saw no place to go
A Little Dancing Bee Cont'd
I came across an owl I danced a bouncy jig She gave snap and scowl I ducked behind a twig
A Little Dancing Bee
I am a little bee I do my little dance I want my friends to see But they don't spare a glance
I wish I were a room
I wish I were a room Of many pots in bloom A place its owner made Their joys in me displayed
My life is better for having known you
You are the hospital's poster child I have seen patients speechlessly starstruck in your presence And volunteers drop everything to visit So, I'm sure you've been told it all before—
I wish I were a bowl of rice
I wish I were a bowl of rice A simple base for something nice Add sweet or salty, wet or dry A friend on whom you can rely
The Ballade of Punch the Monkey
Punch, little monkey, left behind: Your home must be a place you find Yet, in this cold and lonesome world You'll find your fairytale unfurled
I wish I were a stub of chalk
I wish I were a stub of chalk I'd play with children 'round the clock In vivid colours, we'd create Take any surface as our slate
Something Beautiful and Sad
There's a voice that keeps spitting in my head There are times that I wish it'd sing instead 'Cause even if its song would be a little bit more cynical I think the tune would make my mind a little bit less clinical And somehow it would prove itself as purely irrefutable When framed by bars my thoughts can seem entirely immutable
Unreal
I am words on a page, described A rough sketch on loose paper I am an idea, imagined, without dimension Observed from beyond the fourth wall
The Maybe Fish Are Afraid
The maybe fish duck between tangled roots And huddle in crevices beneath large river rocks Hiding from the great shadow looming over the water Its dark form threatening to devour every last maybe
Gravity
It is the Universe; the grid; the mass of many great things The Earth beneath my throat; the Sun atop my stomach; the black hole inside my chest Pulling down, down, down To where everything is heavy and time does not pass And the world upon my shoulders seems impossibly far away indeed
The Rusty Door
I'm not sure how the rusted door opened But it did, hinges shuddering The perfect storm, perhaps
Imperfect Painting
I wonder if the world is made all the more beautiful by the way I don't belong After all, the subject doesn't see the choice of colours or careful brushstrokes I am an observer in awe, a viewer in love with a complex and imperfect painting
I have a headache
Am I anxious? Am I thirsty? How much sleep was slept last night? Is there oxygen enough in here? Or are the lights too bright? Did I forget my glasses? When did I last wash my hair? Is my neck all tense? My posture shrimp-like in the chair?