"Heaven Above"
Barista, look at the sky above.
See your salvation in golden stars of love.
Do a tango in the summer's sun moonlit heaven.
A tattoo of your true love lies in a treasure trove.
Your dreaming about your reality in deep thought.
It is a test to man's warmth and passion to himself.
Compassionate sir, I must implore, what for and why?
Don't get high, sing a soft lullaby to the sky instead.
After all, the sand is white, ocean blue, and planet mars red.
It's not what you read, but what I heard you said.
If true I'd be better off dead, in a bed, resting my head.
Cemetery sneezes, due to winter breezes.
Weather broadcasters are forecasters of disasters.
Masters of the world's doom, in all its gloom.
You'll find me, vacillating in my upstairs room.
Sun's mirrors reflecting the afternoon.
Prologue:
I heard Steve was doing fine hiding behind a ball of twine.
Waiting for eastern and western sunshine.
Never the twain shall meet.
Except in a monopoly board street.
So sit down and clap your feet.
The treat will be contained in a tweet.
By Jonathan Billet
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