It was a bloody scorching Saturday in July <br />The sun was riding high, suddenly, <br />The heat changed the texture of the sky <br />The Greenland shelf had just slipped away! <br /> <br />I looked at my watch and it was half past death! <br />I had no time for punctuation <br />And no time to cross the tees and dot the eyes when, <br />I thought, sometimes it’s better to be unheard and unseen, <br />But there was no place to run and <br />Nowhere to hide <br /> <br />Old blue was turning fire engine red <br />I didn’t look behind me when, <br />I heard Elton’s, Funeral for a Friend <br />The past didn’t matter now <br />The damage had been done <br /> <br />I had no time to think $%^&* <br />And less time to react <br />Was this the end to my novel? <br />If it was, there was no time for notes <br />One never thinks about notes during a nightmare <br />You just need it to wake the f$%^ up!<br /><br />William Cavanagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hell-is-picturesque-and-free-part-1/
