St. Catherine’s Wheel

There He Is
Just A Little Lad
He Has Only Spent Four Years

In This Cruel Universe
He Is Still Pure, Free, Clean
From All The Nazis, Communists

And Everyone In Between.
He Sings About
Silly Little Things

Like An Egg Beside A Wall,
An Old Lady In The Boot
Even A Giant In The Sky

Accesible Only By A
Vegetable Elevator.
He Also Watches Shows

About A Little Yellow Bear
Who Eats Honey And Wears
A Red, Red, A Peacefully Red Shirt.

He Is Taught About
A Jesus That Loves Little Children
Who Is Kind, Terribly Terribly Kind

And Always Answers Your Prayer.
A God That Is An Endless
Fountain Of Love, Who Loves

All, Regardless Of Where They Are From
Or What They Have Done Or
Who They Love.

For Eight Years
He Goes On And On
Like This, Blind

To Human Cruelty.
That Is Robbed
On A Cold January Afternoon.

All Over His
Deadbeat Father’s
Child Support Money.

So That Stepdaddy Can Have The
Wicked Cash. So His Mistress, His Delilah
His Alcohol

Is Safe.
It Is Like
That Hot Egyptian Evening.

When That Girl,
Catherine, Was Tied To
The Wheel, To Die And Die.

But It Exploded As
Soon As She Touched It.
So She Gave Her Head Instead.

But The Boy
Is Tied, Tied To The Wheel.
And Spun And Spun

Till He Is Nothing But
Blood And Innards, In A Gooey Soup
Much To The Ravenous Adult Crowd’s Appeal.

The Bear Was Stabbed.
His Stuffing Ripped Out
To Feed The Birds Of War.

The Innocent Mother Teresa Of
The Shoe, Evicted With All Her Babies And Kids
To Live And Die On The Streets Of Poverty.

And The Big Guy Falls,
Falls, Falls From Heaven
To Be Smashed In Reality’s Pit.

Why Was The Girl
Taken Far Away To
A Monastery, Where Monks Sing.

And The Sweet Little Child
Thrown Into The Sewer
Where The Rats Can Dine?

More Shayari by John Parsons
15 Aug 2017 No Comment 3

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