Coliseum

Rodeo, and I have no saddle for this path Smell distinct like cumin, acumen just summons wrath And, as the timer ticks I know my chances truly dwindle That my love is truly out there But I'll see what spindle hath I've a, heart of hot coal Which accompanies cold flow Analogous to a Picasso Paint emotions After dipping brush in words upon my palette King's ascension does not hinge upon a ballot I, hear the applause Clapping, with sharpened claws And I, finally escape Just to find, I'm still, in its jaws And I, run, my mortal engine On ink, smiles, and tears Though, fate, hides its plans from me I, know they aren't found in gin Nor, in eyes, that are cowled by fears Oak, only grows so far in a flowerpot I soak in zeal, in a cloak, of both good and vice Skill is nought if altar does not see what hands have wrought Rot is all some tongues have sought Climbing mountain for that Edelweiß Pitchforks, are the price of magic Kenning source of shadows-cost of sight Nescience 'bout the figures dancing on the walls is tragic But visions in the cave are best unlocked by one's own might In sea of kerosene, I swim by candlelight I don't wait for knocks Opportunity's dragged through threshold I don't hide my scars Any more than I hide their canvas Keen eye for the crocs Snouts, gaping to flesh hold I can feel at home whether with witches or in Kansas Rather push hard But take life as it passes Than scramble around in darkness Searching desperately for glasses Pondering, whether, I fear oblivion Less than eternity Whether absence, or presence, of an after Sweat I shall shed in this plane is a surety Drooping flesh To make bones mobile Path of success Failures paid toll Beds are made, then unmade, with activity Plans do die, afore their nativity Lawns cut, clothes stacked Life's, an exercise, in futility Ride the road of fortitude Or write an ode to misery Or write while you are riding road and keep a poet company Naïve, to think I'd climb, 'thout bruised knees I may be, wolf that's, removed from the pack But I, pay my fare, and I bear my fair share of fleas Some want signs but spurn divinity Shut soul's blinds but feign transparency More indulgence of your ego More you drown accountability Stored my grain in hollow silo On return, it still was empty Brumation's only rest that I know Can't hibernate, if the winter never ends From filth, art is wrought To sow, tilth is sought I swim in, sea of, vice and vicissitudes Sustained quite well, by the fish that I've caught