MIDNIGHT POETRY – ‘Fully Grown’

When all rivers run wild again
When sun rises in the wee small hours
When bread is baked from sour flours
When can we open eyes ours

On the approach of the age in the middle
On the roof sits a funny man with a fiddle
On the table cereals in a small round bowl
On the wall a cuckoo clock time piddle

The Minerva her soldiers confused
The observer who has been used
The rights of people plainly abused
The patience that has been tested

From the moon that shines white glow
From the groom to loving husband
From bare skin to a full chest grow
From innocence to maturity flow

Our unity has been breached
Our insanity has been reached
Our sterility has been preached
Our stability totally undermined

Who can we call to save our brain
Who is there to breakthrough our pain
Who has the power to change our mind
Who is the Savior going to reign

For timid mankind it could get worst
For greater happiness safety leaves first
For our clarity there is no thirst
For the nonsense bubble to burst

Chaos is the key

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