Erlking
Took my son in town with me, for a cabaret.
Hiding from my mother cause she’s mad
for she couldn’t shift the beer stain on my shirt with Tide.
Her trousers were always ready, that’s where she keeps her panties.
How can I compete?
With her impeccable image of me?
Do not go gently into the bold bold night,
as none of the entertainers could see a clear punchline in sight.
I wished them all the good luck,
though my son muttered:
“I wish I can have a gun for my 7th birthday,
so I can give it to the host to wish him a chance to die,
no, it’s not time too late.”
Very nice of the him,
to consider the offer of assisted suicide.
I thought.
But the venom of his glee,
was like the blue spot on cheese.
I asked him: “Aren’t you afraid.
The holy punishment might smite thee?”
“I don’t think so!”
But talk about the devil,
as my son instantly struck by a lightening bolt.
My parental instinct kicked in and shouted:
Oh shit we gotta go.
I strode my pony,
with my son under my armpit.
Heading towards the black forrest,
with the promise of a cure on the other side of the trees.
“Mother, mother where am I going?”
“You are going to shut up
and we will see,
if we can cross the forrest without losing my key,
to my Ford Elite.
Cause riding this pony is a bad idea it’s faster to drive a car.”
Without the shelter,
of the modern metal monster.
My dear son’s eyes were wide open,
to the horror of passing tree figures.
“Mother, mother there is a weird king behind”
“Don’t be ridiculous it’s just gas”
“I ain’t joking ma,
and I ain’t farting.
The weird man has yolk for eye balls, cheetos for fingers,
and wearing a shiny suit of armor.”
“Don’t be rude, kid! that’s called leper.”
“Mother, you really ought to take a look.
for I know the fancy on funny shit you took.
I remembered you laughed
when egg bombs attacks
the judgmental cook.”
With a thundering shock
I could hear the sound
of the king rolling his eyes to the back of his head aloud.
“Can’t believe you watch programs with a taste of a fucking cock,
and that’s Simon Cowell you are talking about.”
I was awestruck by the austere sound
as I once only heard the tempting offer
from my so-called birth mother.
“Did he promised you land?
Did he promised you garment made out of diamond,
Or did he promised you what you always wanted,
the love juice from a mammary gland?”
My son shouted at me,
looking as the focus slipping out of my face worryingly.
Oh my dear friends,
Have you seen the face and body,
of a whole man?
He has his mind straight and life goal set
and a pair of legs that was destined to measure the unknown terran.
Are you jealous of these four limps on a piece of meat?
Or have you see what I have seen,
the weird man behind him,
who is my leper king?
He has his eye balls back rolled,
blindness doesn’t obstruct him conquering his road.
His fingers feed the obese,
for salvaging what the NHS has failed was never his goal.
What are you fending with you armors,
my leper king?
Is it noble to protect the normals from your leprosy?
Or are you stopping what has once happened,
jubilant leeches stealing your genius your illness,
trying to function on borrowed madness?
I followed him as he was not leading,
to what this whole man he was feeding?
From a cemetery the homeland where he was coming,
Amongst nothing but only a forest of withered white bones he was walking.
At the gate of the barren cemetery,
gathered a herd of eager fairies.
The whole man did a fantastic act,
a pull back reveal joke with the delivery of the precision of sledgehammer.
Surrounding him was all the cheering.
Following him was the second part of the act, the king the mad man.
He stood perfectly still as the laughing became jeering
with his determination his refusal to entertain.
As the squeezed dry fairies began to accuse, to leave, to seal his failure,
Now the real fun has only been discovered.
My mad man my king,
“if you refuse to use your brain to think”
he shouted as he turned all his innards into pus into stink
oozing out of his mouth like laughter this crazy man,
“I will bestow you one last thing!”
He then shed his armors,
left a mist in the mid air.
The whole man shot up like a puppet
as the whirl wind of stunk pulled the threads like a puppeteer.
Another perfect act was performed by the whole man,
and the whole man collapsed as the mad king threw away the threads,
left laughters fermenting bad taste in the fairies’ mouths.
How can I not wait,
to offer my dancing body?
Let the leprosy inhabited me
a vacancy for the mad king who charmed me silly.
He will wear my skin as an armor,
and fend the world of normality with my bones,
finally, a man of a mother who takes me home.
So you ask me,
wait a minute, what about your ill son,
who might die young?
He was already across the forrest safely,
whilst i was cured for this motherless disease.
The lightening strike was not the scar,
as the real pain was the birth mark.
He was now onto a journey,
to break the inherit curse
of the bondage by blood to the birth mother.