NaPoWriMo #19

You at the Window

Yes, throw up the gates
of your cruel castle.
But those snarling pit bulls
are dying of starvation
by the supercilious portcullis.

That song is old.
Is that you at the window,
singing out with dry lungs
that this is your masterpiece?
Proclaiming yourself king?

Make mean eyes at the moat,
check the shipping forecast.
Is that gulf of water
your only plan?
Kindness will find you in the end.

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