Wednesday, 24 June 2020

Toe Nails

One doesn’t notice that it’s happening, or occurring,
As one has to say, if one wishes to find a rhyme.
It is like the growth of toes nails, 
To which one must keep referring,
Because it is a good metaphor. 
One simply finds, that in time
One has become it. No, not brittle and horny,
Like some horrid old man, randy and porny,
Just mad, 
In the way one’s toe nails just become too long.
At first, it seems there is nothing wrong
Then they start to feel slightly odd,
In your everyday shoes,
Then almost like levers, so that were they released
One’s toes would rise, slightly,
With a ping.
And one starts to get
Whatever is the opposite of the blues,
When one believes one is capable. 
And however tightly
One’s toes are jammed in, 
They know they would be raising their heads
Above the parapet and gazing heavenwards 
And starting to sing,
Or play the violin, if only they were not confined.
Then they start to go blue and purple, brown and yellow
And each nail digs into the side of his fellow
And one becomes aware, 
So it is in one’s mind.

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