The lame god - A poem

The lame god

Adorning a tin with selfless pride,

Admiring to me the secrets that they hide.

And with a foolish step, adept in the mysteries,

Happy for all the gifts, thank you and please,

Heavenly yet my ego derives,

Is the artwork that makes the masses cries,

As a still beating heart finds its way,

the broken pieces all fall my way,

The weight of the earth is a heavy thing to measure,

So i sift through the rubble and find much pleasure,

The weight of a soul is heavier still,

Measure the soul the earth will,

Dusty earth, that old tin can,

The one in the middle of Venus and Mars,

Playing the middle man in a cosmic struggle,

Playing the fool as hes wrapped in bubble,

Auto suggest to me a still plainer thing,

And maybe then will my heart start to sing,

The April lilies toss in their graves,

pondering the enumerable number of slaves,

But i am free, said the hookah smoking caterpillar,

And i make honey don't you see? he said, Slapping his knee

See ryan? The world is not violent,

Its violet and rosy and waiting and quiet,

Waiting for you to find something silent,

Or some star gas of truth from an inkling of science,

Well i am not sure how to appear to the butterfly,

He's prettier than me and so is the bee,

Im perplexed why the dog carries the flea,

Or why the caring folk hear the song of the sea,

Its as simple as this our old friend replied

Were you happy hes here or sad that he died?

A mixture of truth is that serum your toking,

Can i gander to what its your thoughts are provoking?

Gander at the garden, or the misty morning haze

Does the sun not burn bright in a blaze?

It's open season if your hunting a duck,

Its open season if your hunting a buck,

its open all season long if your looking for something,

But why in the world are you still screaming fuck?