Ode to Poppins

Falling rain makes more sense of my confusion then the logical ways of man. Poetic justice gives no justice to the reality that is haunting the corners of my mind. Parallel universes taunt my dreams; plaguing the authenticity of life and digging hollow graves for my wonderlands of escape. Where do I go, now that the verisimilitude stands before me, barring the doors to my faithful utopia? Mental turmoil molests the heart, and muddies the clarity of the soul. I'm at a loss. No more answers to all these questions. Lucidity is lost to the stains of glass; reason left to deception. Refuge is of foreign tongues, and hope falls on deaf ears. Please; does anyone know the number for 911? Exactly.

Confusion eats at a soul, until the mind loses control and hell breaks loose; unleashing a wrath unknown to man. Point blank: I'm confused. Get it? Well not really confused; maybe more befuddled, flummoxed? I haven't a clue. What do I do about this predicament? How do you love the unloved? How do you feed the hungry? How do you clothe the naked? Easy: you love the unloved; you feed the hungry; clothe the naked. That's the same answer I received from him as well. Make no sense. A recapitulated statement. How do you propose to obtain answers to the questions gnawing at the very flesh of your being, when your answers are your questions twisted? Proof! Cries the crowd, We want PROOF! Ya, I'd like proof too, however, such a beautiful thing never comes easily. It takes time. Time. What a delicate business time is. How lovely it can be, and how heinous it can become. Well, what if I don't want to give my precious time away so lightly in hopes to retrieve my so sought after proof? Tough luck? Yes, I suppose it would become a situation of tough luck. Here, instead, I shall dilly my time away to better efforts: those of my wonderlands hidden in the crevices of my darkest imagination...

Alice never had it so bad;

sure, the rabbit was

unreachable, the Mad Hatter

unreasonable, and the Queen

unbearable, but unattainable

refuge in dreamland is never as

miserable as unattainable

refuge in reality.

The Little Mermaid?

Let's face the music;

she fell in love,

and look how the

story ended:

is unrequited

love worth

an eternity

as sea foam?

But alone amidst this ocean of pessimism,

stands the woman who deserves to be held

in the highest of regards:

Praise be to

Marry Poppins,

the woman

who flew away

from paradise

on the winds

of success;

may the

umbrella

give her

wings.

I dream that one day, I too, may raise her umbrella to the wind and soar...

~