GALLOWS HUMOR

GALLOWS HUMOR

The ship is slowly sinking and with it go the rats,
The vampire’s cave is stinking with the excrement of bats.

The window to my soul is leaking, with a strong and steady downpour.
I’m lost somewhere in no man’s land, where lions meow but never roar.

And nothing’s as it seems to be, but everything is broken,
And all complaints and murmurings are useless and verboten.

So all I have is a spirit dark and its wicked tales to spin,
Nothing left but gallows humor underneath my skin.

The captain of the ship is busy, controlling the near mutiny,
And the rats are getting tired of this relentless disease.
And still they do their jobs like pros and come up smelling like a rose,
While the ship’s hull cracks and acrid water spills upon my clothes.

The night is young but the bees have stung, and a knife can’t cut the tension,
The rats are dying right and left, the ship is lost amid dissension.

And I have to wonder what’s the use, as I feel the fastening of the noose,
And I tread in waters shallow, swinging wildly from the gallows.

The ship has run aground at last, it seems to have no moorings.
No anchor firm, a still slow burn, the captain he is snoring.
Everything is up for question, nothing’s understood,
But flames are burning from the ship, I can smell the charring wood.

And so I laugh, for it’s all I know, it’s all I care to do.
I snicker, snort and chortle and guffaw the whole day through.
My soul it has turned dark and damp and clammy is my skin,
With only crumbs of gallows humor to show the state I’m in.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED