Our natural instinct teaches fear of the Woolf.
She stalks us stealthily like prey in seclusion of camping trips and bonfires.
But do we know that she follows us home?
She fears not the light,
Nor the dark,
Nor our gaseous chests full of nerve,
But pokes them back down to bite-size;
Curb your enthusiasm,
If only for a moment.
Confront your silk web and try to atone it.
To keep it, I doubt that Virginia condones it.
Your backburner’s crowded,
The past is obese
With urban folklores of trash dressed in fleece.
But it’s time to light the fire
To the grill of new coal.
Let’s cook these old burdens
And swallow them whole.
But let’s say that you don’t,
Because you can’t or you won’t.
Our old pal the Woolf
Will start to revolt.
Ms. Woolf’s got a bag of neat fancy tricks,
Of guns going click
And clocks going tick
But tocks fail to fit
As time calls it quits
On your old dog's quips.
Your faux-stained lips breathe the night of mendacity.
But that’s just Veracity,
Slick as can be,
Fooling us all,
For she knows we’re afraid.
Scared straight as cat hair as the air chokes our daze.
Thought we’d raise kids to practice our trade
Of viscous oddities,
Falsified rage turned into parades of
But the sun disagrees;
It just illuminates our greed
For what we lack and still need.
And while we’re dying to find it,
We try to lie in between.
Thought you could hide;
Thought the truth would confide
In the crevices of the earth where nobody would look.
And never dare to find.
But the bone-chilling truth is what Virginia conjures
Until she’s got you.
And boy, does she have you;
And now you sulk
Inside her timeless bag of tricks
Of guns going click,
And clocks going tick,
As time finds your mask,
And so, calls it quits.
But tell the wolves I'm home.
Tell them to come out and greet me.
And tell old Virginia
I’d like a word with her, too.