The Frame

Life in a hole of hollow expectancy

Shelved in a child’s fantasy

“Up you go,” says the man

Of creamy, slimy, pompous clan

Looking forward to a day

Of heartless, broken, muddy clay

Sounds abound I hear

But upon my return they fade

If only I knew

Never would they smite ‘The Frame’

“What you say?” “What you mean?”

Questions a many, indulgence none

‘The Frame’ vanished in a cult of clerical clowns

Remnants smudged on their gory frowns

Beauty mystified in its purity

Vandalised by their countless obscurities

Feelings procured in a glorious harmonic sound

Just another jewel in their crown

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