bird bath, by toby thompson

call it karma, call it sin
a mother’s love, an awkward fling
a game of chess, a blade of grass
a circle’s curve, a ball of string
who built the wall that walls me in?

call it yang, call it yin
the rising tide, the falling wing
the tiger’s bite, the hornet’s sting
call it the gauntlet the scorpion's fling
who built the wall the walls me in?

as mother earth flaunts her floor length gown
the one with the 3d floral print
call it her ultimate crowning achievement
call it a frivolous thoughtless whim
call it the killer whale’s dorsal fin
cautioning you to stay put
where the water is see through and warm and thin
call it newspapers to purchase
iOS updates and lawn to strim
call it autumn lovingly sweeping the leaf strewn floor
of yet another catacomb built in a hurry
see him scowl, hear him stammer, guiltily, glumly
‘isn’t she plum blossom willingly lovely?’
call her the still warm corpse of spring
who built the walls that wall me in?

oracle, wise owl, priestess, rabbi
Somebody tell me what am i what am i?
a chess piece held in a cosmic hand?
a house fly trapped in a gossamer cobweb?
a colander of sand?
hold nothing back, i want to understand

call me peter, call me rodger
call me thumper, call me bugs
what did i do to deserve to be placed
in this sorry excuse for a sprawling hutch?

call me paddington, even address me as pooh
bequeath me the pet name baloo
the question remains, what the heck did i do
that my soul should be held captive trapped in the prison of me
like a grizzly bear in a derelict zoo
whispering countless inquisitive prayers
into the starry celestial blue
really I mean as if anyone knew
be they dead or alive
in heaven or extraterrestrial who!

who built the wall that walls me in
who wrote the chorus the dawn birds sing
that flawless hymn that raucous din
somebody, somebody put us in touch

who built the wall that walls me in?
call it cowardice, call it skin
call it precisely the length of an exhale
squeeze it out, draw it in

who dug the moat that closely borders
this blasted blonde haired blue eyed
lonesome so called Toby fortress
and with regards to the oaken drawbridge
which arse broke the lever?
why wont it lower?
i wanna roam free where the grass is loads neater
haven’t you seen how the leaves on the willow tree’s branches
way over yonder can’t but grow greener?

let me out let me out!
or at the very least riddle me this
who chiseled the clouds that shroud my devout
lust for life in the thickest of doubtful fogs?
by way of reply the wind chimes sigh
and the bird bath fountain sobs