21 December 2015 at 04:42 · London ·
They say that the twenty first day is the worst,
I thought the first was and the second and third,
word on the street is
‘ no one can beat this ‘
I never believed them boyz in the ‘hood,
always up to no good ,
never giving a damn,
I growed me a while and word is,
I’m a man.
On the fourteenth day when they say, that the curse hits you hard
I was reading a sonnet penned by the ‘Bard’
wondering if his life was as hard as the times that he lived in,
wonder if he ever gave in,
a saving grace here is that stupid dies and has no respect or fear of fear.
I survey the wreckage and yet I survive, a
high five to the gods of the day.
And Santa is coming they say, but that’s on the twenty fifth day,
they’re auditioning wise men who are all in disguise,
men freed from the nine to five,
men who are on their way home.
Anyway the twenty first day ain’t too bad,
I ain’t as crazy, it’s the World thats gone mad.
It only takes a miracle and the rest is passé
except for today and word is
twenty one is
lucky for some.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.