my poem

The Locust of Control
shedding his skin,
leaving only remnants
of where he's been.

Both hither and yon,
and neither anon,
"Tis where I'm going,
not where I've been."

As the ocean is to the sky,
the colour blue to my eyes,
hath no rhyme or reason,
hath no worthy disguise.

Forsooth, a simple life,
that which hath no meaning,
Is but a lonely strife,
to complicate my inbetweening.

I sing this simple song
at the top of my gills.
I sing it all day long
from the top of the hills.

So won't you come to my show
I'll charge you half-price.
If you shout 'Encore'
Perhaps I'll sing it twice.