Routes of Personality. The old sidewalks of unassuming glares, Stare wildly at the three young...

Routes of Personality

The old sidewalks of unassuming glares,Stare wildly at the three young tricksters. Their wily eyes, dancing eyebrows, and clinkity clacks.Tip toe, tip toe, through the disheveled house.

A jingle of voices strip of yawn.Fellows of bark, sticks and guards.Back and forth, and left and right.We sway to the beat, of kindred’s past.

In you call yourselves, Ace and Spades.

Tonight, you say, there is folly to be made.

Tips and toes, tips, and toes. The smile of heart,

Is the fragrant of shore.

The ties of midnight, day, and dawn. Tonight I follow the, noble star.Ancient follows are monochrome’s slade.Ticks and tocks, time of clock, tick, tock.

The river dancing hobb, jingles and jumps.The silent siren of the engine calls.Tonight they’re sailing too ajar.Jingles and jumps of bells I hear.

The sandy beaches of old boys tale.The mournful wisps of ocean’s glee.Through the beaches, you’ll see the rise.Because the sun rises, around the sea.

The cold forest sweeps and swoons.Empty of cars, toys, and fox news.Only gentle humming of mister

cricket.Sweeping and swooning, it swings so

slight.

Nimble turtles, swim the beaches.They climb and crime. Twisting and turning,

Wrinkles in crests of melancholic waters.Only to return, to which they came.

I had a vision of yores. The cry of death.The swarm of owls surrounded you.You played off as nothing more.But we are just butterflies. Butterflies with no effect.

In with the out, out with the in.Recycle the ways of old man’s past.Reigns are loose, this time of year.Break free of desert’s shanty tear.

The kitchen is still with morning light.

And what is that? A large elephant.

It saunters in here, obvious and obnoxious.

Why, elephant, why? Leave my kitchen.

The sauntering glare, of old lover’s thought. Juvenile and immature. But comes from the heart.

What does it make her? Angry plus sad?But only to sneak back and snuggle Muffles the Bear.

Crunch and munch, deep fried fries. Heart attack? Probably not. Shimmering gold of collateral fat.

But writhing this pain, is not of heart.But of soul, soul of love’s past and eternity.

Reopening of Eden, the pearly gates.

So much we gave for this iridescent place.

We fought the goliath, and trimmed Sam’s hair.

Fate or desire? Evangelical or hate?

Poem by,Andrew Wong

Art by,Google