To the Green-eyed monster

You reflected me through scepticism,
Magnified by your fiery green eyes.
Emerging from the food hole,
The forked one parades my history
On mockery however it pleases.

Why on earth harass me, when
I demean not thy wise arrogance;
Nor deride thy educated ignorance;
Or deceive thy dumb ingenuity?

Here stand I to proclaim an effect:
Forks and shovels are the cause.
With multitudes sweating on high,
This isn’t the paradise we dream.

Unsettling as the morning mist;
Elusive as waves on shores;
Paradise is only in our dreams.
We’ll labour on into the setting sun,
Where the ancient grey hats await us.

How many more distortions, would the
Flaming tips of your parching tongue,
Summon for fading re-inventions?

Have you ever dreamt of forks and shovels,
Blistered hands and sweating multitudes?

By: Jeffrey Febi                 02 Jan 2010


About febijefwhispers
I love reading and writing poetry!

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