Oops

 

I strode down the path to the gates of my woes,

And covered my head with a turban and band,

I looked all around at the world passing by,

The one that I knew in a while would be gone,

At pictures and groves,

At letters, I wrote,

At spires and shacks,

Virtuosos and quacks,

At dreams dead and gone then at fantasies wrought,

At beauty and dirt,

Monstrosity bouts,

I then took a breath then I looked up ahead,

At the world that I sought and the view deep inside,

The gate rose a bit 7 feet and an inch,

And being only 5 I couldn’t see anything much,

But I saw something burn like a flame at the top,

And the ambiance was dark, dead, and silent like hell,

The gate had a sign with some ominous tone,

“Woe to the one seeking life or a soul,”

There wasn’t a ward at the gate or a guard,

Just a glass with a drop of some crazy concoction,

Before I could drink I took my backpack and looked,

If inside there was one that I needlessly brought,

I had my headphones, my flute, and my six-string guitar,

An album of Nas, Shinedown, and Breaking Benjamin,

I looked at the world then I took up the cup,

And took just a sip, felt just dizzy, and…

@Job Kerry