The Signs Of Irritation

I rush in as all Arians do,

With full speed and power,

And make an arrogant and stupid decision on a whim,

To grab the bull by the horns,

Out of their field, which they hate and berate me for,

And I dodge being bullied into submission,

By passing them onto my favourite twins,

But I can’t get a word in edgeways to explain,

And they’re too busily self-involved to notice that I slip away,

To the beach to be mothered and smothered,

With one whose much too crabby for me,

And whose pincers refuse to let go of anything,

To be rescued by a lion who has to lead,

Be adored by all whilst they sit atop the cliff,

And if the pride misbehaves; out come the claws,

Amongst the pride is my pedantic friend;

The pure of soul that organises every grain of sand,

Back into their systematic place to critically analyse,

Whilst the scales reclaim the sand,

And attempt to make a decision,

Based on effort and the opinion of others,

To be stared down by the penetrating glare,

Of the scaliest acquaintance that none can control,

Which retreats to plot and brood in a place no-one dare enter,

Except a brash cantering insensitive pony,

That risks it’s life to chase a never ending thrill,

And recklessly crashes into everyone and anyone,

Including the aura of a chilly and cruel,

Mountaineering glorified farm animal,

That will not stop climbing until it reaches,

Air, moisture, being. Odd.

A loner incapable of listening to the likes of anyone else,

Lest it be judged by a lower life form,

Like the slippery non-committal water dweller,

Desperate to be loved by anyone it thinks is above them,

And ready to turn any situation to its advantage,

Like the flames that destroy earth,

Or the air that freezes water,

The earth fouls the air,

And water extinguishes flames,

We cannot live in a world of chaos,

And must accept that; we all make mistakes.

Little Ginge x


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