Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!
This show boat is for certain
in each and every person.
I carry burdens determined
by urban suburban
workmen and sermons,
like a skirmish of words pressed
firmly against my head.
I was meant to honor those dead,
yet I was led to dread
from promises of red:
though green had filled my bed,
and my mouth was good and fed.
(This is how we all were bred.)
Behind the inner walls,
I hide beneath the drawls
while the unspoken repeatedly calls;
it is masked to hide my squalls.
Afraid to stand for fear of fall,
so I lay until (who?) is called
to enlighten, without stall.
Even deeper is painted purple:
in the core, no way of verbal
pronunciation to create internal,
so it burns in this infernal,
ready to release what is eternal.
But the shallow swallows the mirth,
waiting for a brighter birth.